LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OE  CALIEORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Kil iani 


Twenty-one  of  these  walks  did  she  take 

Original  Etching 


3IUustratrii  ^Icrltmi  lEiiUtou 


A  SIMPLETON 


WHITE  LIES 


By 
CHARLES   READE,  D.  C.  L. 


BOSTON 

DANA  FSTF.S  &  COMPANY 

PUBIISHERS 


m 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


A   SIMPLETON 

PAGE 

Twenty  -  one  of  these  walks  did  she  take  .     Frontispiece 

"  So  it  is  a  lady  this  time  " 65 

Laid  her  gently  on  the  floor,  and  kneeled  over  her  195 
Not  till  he  was  within  five  yards  did  he  fire        .    362 

WHITE    LIES 

Rose  .  .  .  fastened  on  the  epaulets      .       .       .       .157 

It  was  Colonel  Raynal 294 

What  he  wrote  ran  thus, — 356 


PREFACE. 


It  has  lately  been  objected  to  me,  in  studiously  court- 
eous terms  of  course,  that  I  borrow  from  other  books, 
and  am  a  plagiarist.  To  this  I  reply  that  T  borrow  facts 
from  every  accessible  source,  and  am  not  a  plagiarist. 
The  plagiarist  is  one  who  borrows  from  a  homogeneous 
work :  for  such  a  man  borrows  not  ideas  only,  but  their 
treatment.  He  who  borrows  only  from  heterogeneous 
works  is  not  a  plagiarist.  All  fiction,  worth  a  button,  is 
founded  on  facts ;  and  it  does  not  matter  one  straw 
whether  the  facts  are  taken  from  personal  experience, 
hearsay,  or  printed  books  ;  only  those  books  must  not  be 
works  of  fiction. 

Ask  your  common  sense  why  a  man  writes  better  fic- 
tion at  forty  than  he  can  at  twenty.  It  is  simply  because 
he  has  gathered  more  facts  from  each  of  these  three 
sources,  —  experience,  hearsay,  print. 

To  those  who  have  science  enough  to  appreciate  the 
above  distinction,  I  am  very  willing  to  admit  that  in  all 
my  tales  I  use  a  vast  deal  of  heterogeneous  material, 
which  in  a  life  of  study  I  have  gathered  from  *  men, 
journals,  blue-books,  histories,  biographies,  law  reports, 
etc.    And  if  I  could,  I  would  gladly  specify  all  the 


4  PBEFACE. 

various  printed  sources  to  which  I  am  indebted.  But 
my  memory  is  not  equal  to  such  a  feat.  I  can  only  say 
that  I  rarely  write  a  novel  without  milking  about  two 
hundred  heterogeneous  cows  into  my  pail,  and  that  "  A 
Simpleton  "  is  no  exception  to  my  general  method ;  that 
method  is  the  true  method,  and  the  best,  and  if  on  that 
method  I  do  not  write  prime  novels,  it  is  the  fault  of  the 
man,  and  not  of  the  method. 

I  give  the  following  particulars  as  an  illustration  of 
my  method : 

In  "A  Simpleton,"  the  whole  business  of  the  girl 
spitting  blood,  the  surgeon  ascribing  it  to  the  liver,  the 
consultation,  the  final  solution  of  the  mystery,  is  a 
matter  of  personal  experience  accurately  recorded.  But 
the  rest  of  the  medical  truths,  both  fact  and  argument, 
are  all  from  medical  books  far  too  numerous  to  specify. 
This  includes  the  strange  fluctuations  of  memory  in  a 
man  recovering  his  reason  by  degrees.  The  behavior  of 
the  doctor's  first  two  patients  I  had  from  a  surgeon's 
daughter  in  Pimlico.  The  servant-girl  and  her  box  ;  the 
purple-faced,  pig-faced  Beak  and  his  justice,  are  personal 
experience.  The  business  of  house-renting,  and  the 
auction-room,  is  also  personal  experience. 

In  the  nautical  business  I  had  the  assistance  of  two 
practical  seamen :  my  brother,  William  Barrington  Keade, 
and  Commander  Charles  Edward  Reade,  R.N. 

In  the  South  African  business  I  gleaned  from  Mr. 
Day's  recent  handbooks;  the  old  handbooks;  Galton's 
"Vacation  Tourist;"  "Philip  Mavor;  or.  Life  among 
the  Caffres  ; "  "  Fossor ;  "  "  Notes  on  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,"  1821 ;  "  Scenes  and  Occurrences  in  Albany  and 


PKEFACE.  6 

Caffre-land,"  1827 ;  Bowler's  "  South  African  Sketches  ; " 
"  A  Campaign  in  South  Africa/'  Lucas ;  "  Five  Years  in 
Caffre-land,"  Mrs.  Ward ;  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  But  my  principal 
obligation  on  this  head  is  to  Mr.  Boyle,  the  author  of 
some  admirable  letters  to  the  Daily  Telegraph,  which  he 
afterwards  reprinted  in  a  delightful  volume.  INIr.  Boyle 
has  a  painter's  eye,  and  a  writer's  pen,  and  if  the  Afri- 
can scenes  in  '•'  A  Simpleton  "  please  my  readers,  I  hope 
they  will  go  to  the  fountain-head,  where  they  will  find 
many  more. 

As  to  the  plot  and  characters,  they  are  invented. 

The  title,  "  A  Simpleton,"  is  not  quite  new.  There  is 
a  French  play  called  La  JSlaise.  But  La  Niaise  is  in 
reality  a  woman  of  rare  intelligence,  who  is  taken  for  a 
simpleton  by  a  lot  of  conceited  fools,  and  the  play  runs 
on  their  blunders,  and  her  unpretending  wisdom.  That 
is  a  very  fine  plot,  which  I  recommend  to  our  female 
novelists.  My  aim  in  these  pages  has  been  much 
humbler,  and  is,  I  hope,  too  clear  to  need  explanation. 

CHAKLES  READE, 


A  SIMPLETOIS". 


CHAPTER  I. 


A  YOUNG  lady  sat  pricking  a  framed  canvas  in  the 
drawing-room  of  Kent  Villa,  a  mile  from  Gravesend; 
she  was  making,  at  a  cost  of  time  and  tinted  wool,  a 
chair  cover,  admirably  unfit  to  be  sat  upon  —  except  by 
some  severe  artist,  bent  on  obliterating  discordant  colors. 
To  do  her  justice,  her  mind  was  not  in  her  work ;  for  she 
rustled  softly  with  restlessness  as  she  sat,  and  she  rose 
three  times  in  twenty  minutes,  and  went  to  the  window. 
Thence  she  looked  down,  over  a  trim  flowery  lawn,  and 
long,  sloping  meadows,  on  to  the  silver  Thames,  alive 
with  steamboats  ploughing,  white  sails  bellying,  and 
great  ships  carrying  to  and  fro  the  treasures  of  the  globe. 
From  this  fair  landscape  and  epitome  of  commerce  she 
retired  each  time  with  listless  disdain ;  she  was  waiting 
for  somebody. 

Yet  she  was  one  of  those  whom  few  men  care  to  keep 
waiting.  Rosa  Lusignan  was  a  dark  but  dazzling  beauty, 
Avith  coal-black  hair,  and  glorious  dark  eyes,  that  seemed 
to  beam  with  soul  all  day  long ;  her  eyebrows,  black, 
straightish,  and  rather  thick,  would  have  been  majestic 
and  too  severe,  had  the  other  features  followed  suit ;  but 
her  black  brows  were  succeeded  by  long  silky  lashes,  a 
sweet  oval  face,  two  pouting  lips  studded  with  ivory,  and 


8  A   SIMPLETON. 

an  exquisite  chin,  as  feeble  as  any  man  could  desire  in 
the  partner  of  his  bosom.  Person  —  straight,  elastic, 
and  rather  tall.  Mind — nineteen.  Accomplishments  — 
numerous;  a  poor  French  scholar,  a  worse  German,  a 
worse  English,  an  admirable  dancer,  an  inaccurate  musi- 
cian, a  good  rider,  a  bad  draughtswoman,  a  bad  hair- 
dresser, at  the  mercy  of  her  maid;  a  hot  theologian, 
knowing  nothing,  a  sorry  accountant,  no  housekeeper,  no 
seamstress,  a  fair  embroideress,  a  capital  geographer,  and 
no  cook. 

Collectively,  viz.,  mind  and  body,  the  girl  we  kneel  to. 

This  ornamental  member  of  society  now  glanced  at  the 
clock  once  more,  and  then  glided  to  the  window  for  the 
fourth  time.  She  peeped  at  the  side  a  good  while,  with 
superfluous  slyness  or  shyness,  and  presently  she  drew 
back,  blushing  crimson;  then  she  peei^ed  again,  still 
more  furtively ;  then  retired  softly  to  her  frame,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  set  to  work  in  earnest.  As  she  plied 
her  harpoon,  smiling  now,  the  large  and  vivid  blush, 
that  had  suffused  her  face  and  throat,  turned  from  car- 
nation to  rose,  and  melted  away  slowly,  but  perceptibly, 
and  ever  so  sweetly;  and  somebody  knocked  at  the 
street  door. 

The  blow  seemed  to  drive  her  deeper  into  her  work. 
She  leaned  over  it,  graceful  as  a  willow,  and  so  absorbed, 
she  could  not  even  see  the  door  of  the  room  open  and 
Dr.  Staines  come  in. 

All  the  better :  her  not  perceiving  that  slight  addition 
to  her  furniture  gives  me  a  moment  to  describe  him. 

A  young  man,  five  feet  eleven  inches  high,  very  square 
shouldered  and  deep  chested,  but  so  symmetrical,  and 
light  in  his  movements,  that  his  size  hardl}^  struck  one 
at  first.  He  was  smooth  shaved,  all  but  a  short,  thick, 
auburn  whisker ;  his  hair  was  brown.  His  features  no 
more  then  comely:  the  brow  full,  the  eyes  wide  apart 


A  SIMPLETON.  9 

and  deep-seated,  the  lips  rather  thin,  but  expressive,  the 
chin  solid  and  square.  It  was  a  face  of  power,  and 
capable  of  harshness ;  but  relieved  by  an  eye  of  unusual 
color,  between  hazel  and  gray,  and  wonderfully  tender. 
In  complexion  he  could  not  compare  with  Rosa;  his 
cheek  was  clear,  but  pale;  for  few  young  men  had 
studied  night  and  day  so  constantly.  Though  but 
twenty-eight  years  of  age,  he  was  literally  a  learned 
physician ;  deep  in  hospital  practice ;  deep  in  books ; 
especially  deep  in  German  science,  too  often  neglected 
or  skimmed  by  English  physicians.  He  had  delivered  a 
course  of  lectures  at  a  learned  university  with  general 
applause. 

As  my  reader  has  divined,  Eosa  was  preparing  the 
comedy  of  a  cool  reception ;  but  looking  up,  she  saw  his 
pale  cheek  tinted  with  a  lover's  beautiful  joy  at  the 
bare  sight  of  her,  and  his  soft  eye  so  divine  with  love, 
that  she  had  not  the  heart  to  chill  him.  She  gave  him 
her  hand  kindly,  and  smiled  brightly  on  him  instead  of 
remonstrating.  She  lost  nothing  by  it,  for  the  very  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  excuse  himself  eagerly.  ''I  am 
behind  time :  the  fact  is,  just  as  I  was  mounting  my 
horse,  a  poor  man  came  to  the  gate  to  consult  me.  He 
had  a  terrible  disorder  I  have  sometimes  succeeded  in 
arresting  —  I  attack  the  cause  instead  of  the  symptoms, 
which  is  the  old  practice  —  and  so  that  detained  me. 
You  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  Poor  man !  —  only  you  said  you  wanted 
to  see  papa,  and  he  always  goes  out  at  two." 

Wlien  she  had  been  betrayed  into  saying  this,  she  drew 
in  suddenly,  and  blushed  with  a  pretty  consciousness. 

"  Then  don't  let  me  lose  another  minute,"  said  the 
lover.  "Have  you  prepared  him  for — for  —  what  I 
am  going  to  have  the  audacity  to  say  ? " 

Rosa  answered,  with  some  hesitation,  "  I  must  have  — ■ 


10  A  SIMPLETOlT. 

a  little.  When  I  refused  Colonel  Bright  —  you  need  not 
devour  my  hand  quite  —  he  is  forty." 

Her  sentence  ended,  and  away  went  the  original  topic, 
and  grammatical  sequence  along  with  it.  Christopher 
Staines  recaptured  them  both.  "Yes,  dear,  when  you 
refused  Colonel  Bright"  — 

"  Well,  papa  was  astonished ;  for  everybody  says  the 
colonel  is  a  most  eligible  match.  Don't  3'ou  hate  that 
expression  ?     I  do.     Eligible ! " 

Christopher  made  due  haste,  and  reca^ptured  her. 
"Yes,  love,  your  papa  said"  — 

"I  don't  think  I  will  tell  you.  He  asked  me  was  there 
anybody  else ;  and  of  course  I  said  '  No.' " 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing ;  I  had  not  time  to  make  up  my 
mind  to  tell  the  truth.  I  was  taken  by  surprise;  and 
you  know  one's  first  impulse  is  to  fib  —  about  thatP 

"  But  did  you  really  deceive  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  blushed ;  and  he  caught  me ;  so  he  said, '  Come, 
now,  there  was. ' " 

"  And  you  said,  '  Yes,  there  is,'  like  a  brave  girl  as 
you  are." 

"  What,  plump  like  that  ?  No,  I  was  frightened  out 
of  my  wits,  like  a  brave  girl  as  I  am  not,  and  said  I 
should  never  marry  any  one  he  could  disapprove;  and 
then  —  oh,  then  I  believe  I  began  to  cry.  Christoj)her, 
I'll  tell  you  something ;  I  find  people  leave  off  teasing 
you  when  you  cry  —  gentlemen,  I  mean.  Ladies  go  on 
all  the  more.  So  then  dear  papa  kissed  me,  and  told  me 
I  must  not  be  imprudent,  and  throw  myself  away,  that 
was  all ;  and  I  promised  him  I  never  would.  I  said  he 
would  be  sure  to  approve  my  choice;  and  he  said  he 
hoped  so.     And  so  he  v/ill." 

Dr.  Staines  looked  thoiightful,  and  said  he  hoped  so 
t-oo.  "But  now  it  comes  to  the  point  of  asking  him  for 
such  a  treasure,  I  feel  my  deficiencies." 


A   SIMPLETON.  11 

"  Why,  what  deficiencies  ?  You  are  young,  and  hand- 
some, and  good,  and  ever  so  much  cleverer  than  other 
people.  You  have  only  to  ask  for  me,  and  insist  on 
having  me.  Come,  dear,  go  and  get  it  over."  She 
added,  mighty  coolly,  "There  is  nothing  so  dreadful  as 
suspense." 

"  I'll  go  this  minute,"  said  he,  and  took  a  step  towards 
the  door;  but  he  turned,  and  in  a  moment  was  at  her 
knees.  He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  pressed  them 
to  his  beating  bosom,  while  his  beautiful  eyes  poured 
love  into  hers  point-blank.  "  May  I  tell  him  you  love 
me  ?  Oh,  I  know  you  cannot  love  me  as  I  love  you ;  but 
I  may  say  you  love  me  a  little,  may  I  not  ?  —  that  will 
go  farther  with  him  than  anything  else.  May  I,  Eosa, 
may  I?— a  little?" 

His  passion  mastered  her.  She  dropped  her  head 
sweetly  on  his  shoulder,  and  murmured,  "  You  know  you 
may,  my  own.     Who  would  not  love  you  ?  " 

He  parted  lingeringly  from  her,  then  marched  away, 
bold  with  love  and  hope,  to  demand  her  hand  in 
marriage. 

Rosa  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  quivered  a  little 
with  new  emotions.  Christopher  was  right ;  she  was  not 
capable  of  loving  like  him ;  but  still  the  actual  contact 
of  so  strong  a  passion  made  her  woman's  nature  vibrate. 
A  dewy  tear  hung  on  the  fringes  of  her  long  lashes,  and 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  fluttered  awhile. 

That  emotion,  almost  new  to  her,  soon  yielded,  in  her 
girlish  mind,  to  a  complacent  languor ;  and  that,  in  its 
turn,  to  a  soft  reverie.  So  she  was  going  to  be  married ! 
To  be  mistress  of  a  house ;  settle  in  London  (that  she 
had  quite  determined  long  ago) ;  be  able  to  go  out  into 
the  streets  all  alone,  to  shop,  or  visit ;  have  a  gentleman 
all  her  own,  whom  she  could  put  her  finger  on  any 
moment  and  make  him  take  her  about,   even  to   the 


12  A  SIMPLETON. 

opera  and  the  theatre ;  to  give  dinner-parties  her  own 
self,  and  even  a  little  ball  once  in  a  way ;  to  buy  what- 
ever dresses  she  thought  proper,  instead  of  being  crippled 
by  an  allowance ;  have  the  legal  right  of  speaking  first 
in  society,  even  to  gentlemen  rich  in  ideas  but  bad 
starters,  instead  of  sitting  mumchance  and  mock-modest; 
to  be  Mistress,  instead  of  Miss  —  contemptible  title ;  to 
be  a  woman,  instead  of  a  girl ;  and  all  this  rational 
liberty,  domestic  power,  and  social  dignity  were  to  be 
obtained  by  merely  wedding  a  dear  fellow,  who  loved 
her,  and  was  so  nice;  and  the  bright  career  to  be 
ushered  in  with  several  delights,  each  of  them  dear  to 
a  girl's  very  soul :  presents  from  all  her  friends ;  as  many 
beautiful  new  dresses  as  if  she  was  changing  her  body  or 
her  hemisphere,  instead  of  her  name;  eclat;  going  to 
church,  which  is  a  good  English  girl's  theatre  of  display 
and  temple  of  vanity,  and  there  tasting  delightful  pub- 
licity and  whispered  admiration,  in  a  heavenly  long  veil, 
which  she  could  not  wear  even  once  if  she  remained 
single. 

This  bright  variegated  picture  of  holy  wedlock,  and 
its  essential  features,  as  revealed  to  young  ladies  by 
feminine  tradition,  though  not  enumerated  in  the  Book 
of  Common  Prayer  writ  by  grim  males,  so  entranced  her, 
that  time  flew  by  unheeded,  and  Christopher  Staines 
came  back  from  her  father.  His  step  was  heavy;  he 
looked  pale,  and  deeply  distressed ;  then  stood  like  a 
statue,  and  did  not  come  close  to  her,  but  cast  a  piteous 
look,  and  gasped  out  one  word,  that  seemed  almost  to 
choke  him,  —  "  Kefused  !  " 

Miss  Lusignan  rose  from  her  chair,  and  looked  almost 
wildly  at  him  with  her  great  eyes.  "  Kefused  ?  "  said 
she,  faintly. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  sadly.  "Your  father  is  a  man  of 
business ;  and  he  took  a  mere  business  view  of  our  love ; 


A  SEVrPLETON.  13 

he  asked  me  directly  what  provision  I  could  make  for 
his  daughter  and  her  children.  Well,  I  told  him  I  had 
three  thousand  pounds  in  the  Funds,  and  a  good  profes- 
sion; and  then  I  said  I  had  youth,  health,  and  love, 
boundless  love,  the  love  that  can  do,  or  suffer,  the  love 
that  can  conquer  the  world." 

"  Dear  Christopher !  And  what  could  he  say  to  all 
that  ?  " 

"  He  ignored  it  entirely.  There !  I'll  give  you  his 
very  words.  He  said,  '  In  that  case.  Dr.  Staines,  the 
simple  question  is,  what  does  your  profession  bring  you 
in  per  annum  ?  ' " 

*'  Oh  !  There  !  I  always  hated  arithmetic,  and  now  I 
abominate  it." 

"  Then  I  was  obliged  to  confess  I  had  scarcely  received 
a  hundred  pounds  in  fees  this  year ;  but  I  told  him  the 
reason ;  this  is  such  a  small  district,  and  all  the  ground 
occupied.     London,  I  said,  was  my  sphere." 

"And  so  it  is,"  said  Rosa,  eagerly;  for  this  jumped 
with  her  own  little  designs.  "  Genius  is  wasted  in  the 
country.  Besides,  whenever  anybody  worth  curing  is  ill 
down  here,  they  always  send  to  London  for  a  doctor." 

"  I  told  him  so,  dearest,"  said  the  lover.  '•'  But  he  an- 
swered me  directly,  then  I  must  set  up  in  London,  and 
as  soon  as  my  books  showed  an  income  to  keep  a  wife, 
and  servants,  and  children,  and  insure  my  life  for  five 
thousand  pounds  "  — 

"  Oh,  that  is  so  like  papa.  He  is  director  of  an  insur- 
ance company,  so  all  the  world  must  insure  their  lives." 

"  No,  dear,  he  was  quite  right  there :  professional  in- 
comes are  most  precarious.  Death  spares  neither  young 
nor  old,  neither  warm  hearts  nor  cold.  I  should  be  no 
true  physician  if  I  could  not  see  my  own  mortality." 
He  hung  his  head  and  pondered  a  moment,  then  went 
on,  sadly,  "  It  all  comes  to  this  —  until  I  have  a  prof es- 


14  A  SIMPLETON. 

sional  income  of  eight  hundred  a  year  at  least,  he  will 
not  hear  of  our  marrying ;  and  the  cruel  thing  is,  he  will 
not  even  consent  to  an  engagement.  But,"  said  the 
rejected,  with  a  look  of  sad  anxiety,  "you  will  wait  for 
me  without  that,  dear  Kosa  ?  " 

She  could  give  him  that  comfort,  and  she  gave  it  him 
with  loving  earnestness.  "  Of  course  I  will ;  and  it  shall 
not  be  very  long.  Whilst  you  are  making  your  fortune, 
to  please  papa,  I  will  keep  fretting,  and  pouting,  and 
crying,  till  he  sends  for  you." 

"  Bless  you,  dearest !  Stop  !  —  not  to  make  yourself 
ill !  not  for  all  the  world."  The  lover  and  the  physician 
spoke  in  turn. 

He  came,  all  gratitude,  to  her  side,  and  they  sat,  hand 
in  hand,  comforting  each  other :  indeed,  parting  was  such 
sweet  sorrow  that  they  sat,  handed,  and  very  close  to 
one  another,  till  Mr.  Lusignan,  who  thought  five  minutes 
quite  enough  for  rational  beings  to  take  leave  in,  walked 
into  the  room  and  surprised  them.  At  sight  of  his  gray 
head  and  iron-gray  eyebrows,  Christopher  Staines  started 
up  and  looked  confused ;  he  thought  some  apology  neces- 
sary, so  he  faltered  out,  "  Forgive  me,  sir ;  it  is  a  bitter 
parting  to  me,  you  may  be  sure." 

Eosa's  bosom  heaved  at  these  simple  words.  She  flew 
to  her  father,  and  cried,  "Oh,  papa!  papa!  you  were 
never  cruel  before ; "  and  hid  her  burning  face  on  his 
shoulder ;  and  then  burst  out  crying,  partly  for  Christo- 
pher, partly  because  she  was  now  ashamed  of  herself  for 
having  taken  a  young  man's  part  so  openly. 

Mr.  Lusignan  looked  sadly  discomposed  at  this  out- 
burst :  she  had  taken  him  by  his  weak  point ;  he  told 
her  so.  "Now,  Eosa,"  said  he,  rather  peevishly,  "you 
know  I  hate  —  noise." 

Eosa  had  actually  forgotten  that  trait  for  a  single 
moment;    but,  being  reminded  of  it,  she  reduced  her 


A   SIMPLETON.  15 

sobs  in  the  prettiest  way,  not  to  offend  a  tender  parent 
who  could  not  bear  noise.  Under  this  homely  term,  you 
must  know,  he  included  all  scenes,  disturbances,  rum- 
puses, passions ;  and  expected  all  men,  women,  and 
things  in  Kent  Villa  to  go  smoothly  —  or  go  elsewhere. 

"Come,  young  people,"  said  he,  "don't  make  a  dis- 
turbance. Where's  the  grievance  ?  Have  I  said  he 
shall  never  marry  you  ?  Have  I  forbidden  him  to  cor- 
respond ?  or  even  to  call,  say  twice  a  year.  All  I  say  is, 
no  marriage,  nor  contract  of  marriage,  until  there  is  an 
income."  Then  he  turned  to  Christopher.  "Now  if 
you  can't  make  an  income  without  her,  how  could  you 
make  one  with  her,  weighed  down  by  the  load  of  ex- 
penses a  wife  entails  ?  I  know  her  better  than  you  do ; 
she  is  a  good  girl,  but  rather  luxurious  and  self-indulgent. 
She  is  not  cut  out  for  a  poor  man's  wife.  And  pray 
don't  go  and  fancy  that  nobody  loves  my  child  but  you. 
Mine  is  not  so  hot  as  yours,  of  course ;  but  believe  me, 
sir,  it  is  less  selfish.  You  would  expose  her  to  poverty 
and  misery ;  but  I  say  no ;  it  is  my  duty  to  protect  her 
from  all  chance  of  them ;  and,  in  doing  it,  I  am  as  much 
your  friend  as  hers,  if  you  could  but  see  it.  Come,  Dr. 
Staines,  be  a  man,  and  see  the  Vv'orld  as  it  is.  I  have 
told  you  how  to  earn  my  daughter's  hand  and  my 
esteem :  you  must  gain  both,  or  neither." 

Dr.  Staines  was  never  quite  deaf  to  reason:  he  now 
put  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  said,  with  a  sort  of  wonder 
and  pitiful  dismay,  "My  love  for  Eosa  selfish!  Sir, 
your  words  are  bitter  and  hard."  Then,  after  a  struggle, 
and  with  rare  and  touching  candor,  "  Ay,  but  80  are  bark 
and  steel ;  yet  they  are  good  medicines."  Tlxen  with  a 
great  glow  in  his  heart  and  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  My  dar- 
ling shall  not  be  a  poor  man's  wife,  she  who  would 
adorn  a  coronet,  ay,  or  a  crown.  Good-by,  Rosa,  for  the 
present."    He  darted  to  her,  and  kissed  her  hand  with 


16  A  SIMPLETON. 

all  his  soul.  "  Oh,  the  sacrifice  of  leaving  you,"  he  fal- 
tered; ''the  very  world  is  dark  to  me  without  you. 
Ah,  well,  I  must  earn  the  right  to  come  again."  He 
summoned  all  his  manhood,  and  marched  to  the  door. 
There  he  seemed  to  turn  calmer  all  of  a  sudden,  and  said 
firmly,  yet  humbly, ''  I'll  try  and  show  you,  sir,  what  love 
can  do." 

"  And  I'll  show  you  what  love  can  suffer,"  said  Kosa, 
folding  her  beautiful  arms  superbly. 

It  was  not  in  her  to  have  shot  such  a  bolt,  except  in 
imitation ;  yet  how  promptly  the  mimic  thunder  came, 
and  how  grand  the  beauty  looked,  with  her  dark  brows, 
and  flashing  eyes,  and  folded  arms  !  much  grander  and 
more  inspired  than  poor  Staines,  who  had  only  furnished 
the  idea. 

But  between  these  two  figures  swelling  with  emotion, 
the  representative  of  common  sense,  Lusignan  ^:)ere,  stood 
cool  and  impassive ;  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  on  both  lovers  as  a  couple  of  ranting  novices  he 
was  saving  from  each  other  and  almshouses. 

For  all  that,  when  the  lover  had  torn  himself  away, 
papa's  composure  was  suddenly  disturbed  by  a  misgiv- 
ing. He  stepped  hastily  to  the  stairhead,  and  gave  it 
vent.  "  Dr.  Staines,"  said  he,  in  a  loud  whisper  (Staines 
was  half  way  down  the  stairs:  he  stopped).  "I  trust  to 
you  as  a  gentleman,  not  to  mention  this  ;  it  will  never 
transpire  here.     Whatever  we  do  —  no  noise  ! " 


A  SBIPLETON.  17 


CHAPTER  II. 

EosA  LusiGNAN  Set  lierself  pining  as  she  had  prom- 
ised; and  she  did  it  discreetly  for  so  young  a  person. 
She  was  never  peevish,  but  always  sad  and  listless.  By 
this  means  she  did  not  anger  her  parent,  but  only  made 
him  feel  she  was  unhappy,  and  the  house  she  had  hither- 
to brightened  exceeding  dismal. 

By  degrees  this  noiseless  melancholy  undermined  the 
old  gentleman,  and  he  well-nigh  tottered. 

But  one  day,  calling  suddenly  on  a  neighbor  with  six 
daughters,  he  heard  peals  of  laughter,  and  found  Rosa 
taking  her  full  share  of  the  senseless  mirth.  She  pulled 
up  short  at  sight  of  him,  and  colored  high ;  but  it  Avas 
too  late,  for  he  launched  a  knowing  look  at  her  on  the 
spot,  and  muttered  something  about  seven  foolish  virgins. 

He  took  the  first  opportunity,  when  they  were  alone, 
and  told  her  he  was  glad  to  find  she  was  only  dismal  at 
home. 

But  Rosa  had  prepared  for  him.  "  One  can  be  loud 
without  being  gay  at  heart,"  said  she,  with  a  lofty, 
languid  air.  "  I  have  not  forgotten  your  last  words  to 
him.  We  were  to  hide  our  broken  hearts  from  the  world. 
I  try  to  obey  you,  dear  papa ;  but,  if  I  had  my  way,  I 
would  never  go  into  the  world  at  all.  I  have  but  one 
desire  now  —  to  end  my  days  in  a  convent." 

"  Please  begin  them  first.  A  convent !  Why,  you'd 
turn  it  out  of  window.  You  are  no  more  fit  to  be  a  nun 
than  —  a  pauper." 

Not  having  foreseen  this  facer,  Rosa  had  nothing 
ready ;  so  she  received  it  with  a  sad,  submissive,  help- 


18  A   SIMPLETON. 

less  sigh,  as  who  would  say,  "  Hit  me,  papa :  I  have  no 
friend  now."  So  then  he  was  sorry  he  had  been  so 
clever ;  and,  indeed,  there  is  one  provoking  thing  about 
"  a  woman's  weakness  "  —  it  is  invincible. 

The  next  minute,  what  should  come  but  a  long  letter 
from  Dr.  Staines,  detailing  his  endeavors  to  purchase 
a  practice  in  London,  and  his  ill-success.  The  letter 
spoke  the  language  of  love  and  hope ;  but  the  facts  were 
discouraging;  and,  indeed,  a  touching  sadness  pierced 
through  the  veil  of  the  brave  words. 

Rosa  read  it  again  and  again,  and  cried  over  it  before 
her  father,  to  encourage  him  in  his  heartless  behavior. 

About  ten  days  after  this,  something  occurred  that 
altered  her  mood. 

She  became  grave  and  thoughtful,  but  no  longer  lugu- 
brious. She  seemed  desirous  to  atone  to  her  father  for 
having  disturbed  his  cheerfulness.  She  smiled  affection- 
ately on  him,  and  often  sat  on  a  stool  at  his  knee,  and 
glided  her  hand  into  his. 

He  was  not  a  little  pleased,  and  said  to  himself,  "  She 
is  coming  round  to  common-sense." 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  she  was  farther  from  it  than 
ever. 

At  last  he  got  the  clew.  One  afternoon  he  met  Mr. 
Wyman  coming  out  of  the  villa.  Mr.  Wyman  was  the 
consulting  surgeon  of  that  part. 

"  What !  anybody  ill  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  One  of 
the  servants  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  Miss  Lusignan." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

Wyman  hesitated.  "  Oh,  nothing  very  alarming. 
Would  you  mind  asking  her  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  The  fact  is,  she  requested  me  not  to  tell  you :  made 
me  promise." 


A  SEVrPLETON.  19 

^'  And  I  insist  upon  your  telling  me." 

"  And  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  sir,  as  her  father. 
Well,  she  is  troubled  with  a  little  spitting  of  blood." 

Mr.  Lusignan  turned  pale.  "  My  child !  spitting  of 
blood !     God  forbid ! " 

"  Oh,  do  not  alarm  yourself.     It  is  nothing  serious." 

"  Don't  tell  me ! "  said  the  father.  "  It  is  always 
serious.     And  she  kept  this  from  me  ! " 

Masking  his  agitation  for  the  time,  he  inquired  how 
often  it  had  occurred,  this  grave  symptom. 

"  Three  or  four  times  this  last  month.  But  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  at  once  :  I  have  examined  her  carefully, 
and  I  do  not  think  it  is  from  the  lungs." 

"  From  the  throat,  then  ?  " 

"  No ;  from  the  liver.  Everything  points  to  that 
organ  as  the  seat  of  derangement :  not  that  there  is  any 
lesion ;  only  a  tendency  to  congestion.  I  am  treating 
her  accordingly,  and  have  no  doubt  of  the  result." 

"  Who  is  the  ablest  physician  hereabouts  ?  "  asked 
Lusignan,  abruptly. 

''  Dr.  Snell,  I  think." 

"  Give  me  his  address." 

"  I'll  write  to  him,  if  you  like,  and  appoint  a  consulta- 
tion." He  added,  with  vast  but  rather  sudden  alacrity, 
"  It  will  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  my  own  mind." 

"  Then  send  to  him,  if  you  please,  and  let  him  be  here 
to-morrow  morning ;  if  not,  I  shall  take  her  to  London 
for  advice  at  once." 

On  this  understanding  they  parted,  and  Lusignan  went 
at  once  to  his  daughter.  "  0  my  child ! "  said  he,  deeply 
distressed,  "  how  could  you  hide  this  from  me  ?  " 

"  Hide  what,  papa  ?  "  said  the  girl,  looking  the  picture 
of  unconsciousness. 
.y    ''  That  you  have  been  spitting  blood." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  "  said  she,  sharply. 


2.0  A  SIMPLETON". 

"Wyman.     He  is  attending  you." 

Rosa  colored  with  anger.  "  Chatterbox !  He  prom- 
ised me  faithfully  not  to." 

"  But  why,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  What !  would  you 
trust  this  terrible  thing  to  a  stranger,  and  hide  it  from 
your  poor  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Rosa,  quietly. 

The  old  man  would  not  scold  her  now ;  he  only  said, 
sadly,  "  I  see  how  it  is :  because  I  will  not  let  you  marry 
poverty,  you  think  I  do  not  love  you."     And  he  sighed. 

"  0  papa  !  the  idea  ! "  said  Rosa.  "  Of  course,  I  know 
you  love  me.  It  was  not  that,  you  dear,  darling,  foolish 
papa.  There !  if  you  must  know,  it  was  because  I  did 
not  want  you  to  be  distressed.  I  thought  I  might  get 
better  with  a  little  physic;  and,  if  not,  why,  then  I 
thought,  '  Papa  is  an  old  man ;  la  !  I  dare  say  I  shall  last 
his  time  ; '  and  so,  why  should  I  poison  your  latter  days 
with  worrying  about  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Lusignan  stared  at  her,  and  his  lip  quivered ;  but 
he  thought  the  trait  hardly  consistent  with  her  super- 
ficial character.  He  could  not  help  saying,  half  sadly, 
half  bitterly,  "Well,  but  of  course  you  have  told  Dr. 
Staines." 

Rosa  opened  her  beautiful  eyes,  like  two  suns.  "  Of 
course  I  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  has  enough 
to  trouble  him,  without  that.  Poor  fellow !  there  he  is, 
worrying  and  striving  to  make  his  fortune,  and  gain 
your  esteem  — '  they  go  together,'  you  know ;  you  told 
him  so."  (Young  cats  will  scratch  when  least  expected.) 
"And  for  me  to  go  and  tell  him  I  am  in  danger  !  Why, 
he  would  go  wild.  He  would  think  of  nothing  but  me 
and  my  health.  He  would  never  make  his  fortune  :  and 
so  then,  even  when  I  am  gone,  he  will  never  get  a  wife, 
because  he  has  only  got  genius  and  goodness  and  three 
thousand  pounds.    No,  papa,  I  have  not  told  poor  Chris- 


A  SIMPLETON.  21 

topher.  I  may  tease  those  I  love.  I  have  been  teasing 
you  this  ever  so  long  ;  but  frighten  them,  and  make  them 
miserable  ?     No  !  " 

And  here,  thinking  of  the  anguish  that  was  perhaps 
in  store  for  those  she  loved,  she  wanted  to  cry ;  it  almost 
choked  her  not  to.  But  she  fought  it  bravely  down :  she 
reserved  her  tears  for  lighter  occasions  and  less  noble 
sentiments. 

Her  father  held  out  his  arms  to  her.  She  ran  her 
footstool  to  him,  and  sat  nestling  to  his  heart. 

"  Please  forgive  me  my  misconduct.  I  have  not  been 
a  dutiful  daughter  ever  since  you  — but  now  I  will.  Kiss 
me,  my  own  papa  !  There  !  Now  we  are  as  we  always 
were." 

Then  she  purred  to  him  on  every  possible  topic  but 
the  one  that  now  filled  his  parental  heart,  and  bade  him 
good-night  at  last  with  a  cheerfvil  smile. 

Wyman  was  exact,  and  ten  minutes  afterwards  Dr. 
Snell  drove  up  in  a  carriage  and  pair.  He  was  inter- 
cepted in  the  hall  by  Wyman,  and,  after  a  few  minutes' 
conversation,  presented  to  Mr.  Lusignan, 

The  father  gave  vent  to  his  paternal  anxiety  in  a  few 
simple  but  touching  words,  and  was  proceeding  to  state 
the  symptoms  as  he  had  gathered  them  from  his  daughter ; 
but  Dr.  Snell  interrupted  him  politely,  and  said  he  had 
heard  the  principal  symptoms  from  Mr.  Wyman.  Then, 
turning  to  the  latter,  he  said,  "  We  had  better  proceed  to 
examine  the  patient." 

''  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  She  is  in  the 
drawing-room ; "  and  he  led  the  way,  and  was  about  to 
enter  the  room,  when  Wyman  informed  him  it  was  against 
etiquette  for  him  to  be  present  at  the  examination. 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  said  he.  "  Yes,  I  see  the  propriety 
of  that.  But  oblige  me  by  asking  her  if  she  has  any- 
thing on  her  mind." 


22  A  SIMPLETON. 

Dr.  Snell  bowed  a  lofty  assent ;  for,  to  receive  a  hint 
from  a  layman  was  to  confer  a  favor  on  him. 

The  men  of  science  were  closeted  full  half  an  houi 
with  the  patient.  She  was  too  beautiful  to  be  slurred 
over,  even  by  a  busy  doctor :  he  felt  her  pulse,  looked  at 
her  tongue,  and  listened  attentively  to  her  lungs,  to  her 
heart,  and  to  the  organ  suspected  by  Wyman.  He  left 
her  at  last  with  a  kindly  assurance  that  the  case  was 
perfectly  curable. 

At  the  door  they  were  met  by  the  anxious  father,  who 
came  with  throbbing  heart,  and  asked  the  doctors' 
verdict. 

He  was  coolly  informed  that  could  not  be  given  until 
the  consultation  had  taken  place;  the  result  of  that 
consultation  would  be  conveyed  to  him. 

"And  pray,  why  can't  I  be  present  at  the  consulta- 
tion ?  The  grounds  on  which  two  able  men  agree  or 
disagree  must  be  well  worth  listening  to." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Dr.  Snell;  "but,"  with  a  superior 
smile,  "my  dear  sir,  it  is  not  the  etiquette." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Lusignan.  But  he  muttered, 
"  So,  then,  a  father  is  nobody ! " 

And  this  unreasonable  person  retired  to  his  study, 
miserable,  and  gave  up  the  dining-room  to  the  consulta- 
tion. 

They  soon  rejoined  him. 

Dr.  Snell's  opinion  was  communicated  by  Wyman. 
"  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that  Dr.  Snell  agrees  with  me, 
entirely :  the  lungs  are  not  affected,  and  the  liver  is  con- 
gested, but  not  diseased." 

"  Is  that  so.  Dr.  Snell  ?  "  asked  Lusignan,  anxiously. 

"  It  is  so,  sir."  He  added,  "  The  treatment  has  been 
submitted  to  me,  and  I  quite  approve  it." 

He  then  asked  for  a  pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  a  pre- 
scription.    He  assured  Mr.  Lusignan  that  the  case  had 


A   SIMPLETON.  23 

no  extraordinary  feature,  whatever ;  he  was  not  to  alarm 
himself.  Dr.  Snell  then  drove  away,  leaving  the  parent 
rather  puzzled,  but,  on  the  Avhole,  much  comforted. 

And  here  I  must  reveal  an  extraordinary  circumstance. 

Wyman's  treatment  was  by  drugs. 

Dr.  Snell's  was  by  drugs. 

Dr.  Snell,  as  you  have  seen,  entirely  approved  Wyman's 
treatment. 

His  own  had  nothing  in  common  with  it.  The  Arctic 
and  Antarctic  poles  are  not  farther  apart  than  was  his  pre- 
scription from  the  prescription  he  thoroughly  approved. 

Amiable  science  !  In  which  complete  diversity  of  prac- 
tice did  not  interfere  with  perfect  uniformity  of  opinion. 

All  this  was  kept  from  Dr.  Staines,  and  he  was 
entirely  occupied  in  trying  to  get  a  position  that  might 
lead  to  fortune,  and  satisfy  Mr.  Lusignan.  He  called 
on  every  friend  he  had,  to  inquire  where  there  was  an 
opening.  He  walked  miles  and  miles  in  the  best  quar- 
ters of  London,  looking  for  an  opening;  he  let  it  be 
known  in  many  quarters  that  he  would  give  a  good  pre- 
mium to  any  physician  who  was  about  to  retire,  and 
would  introduce  him  to  his  patients. 

No :  he  could  hear  of  nothing. 

Then,  after  a  great  struggle  with  himself,  he  called 
upon  his  uncle,  Philip  Staines,  a  retired  M.D.,  to  see  if 
he  would  do  anything  for  him.  He  left  this  to  the  last, 
for  a  very  good  reason :  Dr.  Philip  was  an  irritable  old 
bachelor,  who  had  assisted  most  of  his  married  relatives ; 
but,  finding  no  bottom  to  the  well,  had  turned  rusty  and 
crusty,  and  now  was  apt  to  administer  kicks  instead  of 
checks  to  all  who  were  near  and  dear  to  him.  However, 
Christopher  was  the  old  gentleman's  favorite,  and  was 
now  desperate ;  so  he  mustered  courage,  and  went.  He 
was  graciously  received  —  warmly,  indeed.  This  gave 
him  great  hopes,  and  he  told  his  tale. 


24  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  old  bachelor  sided  with  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  What ! " 
said  he,  "do  you  want  to  many,  and  propagate  pau- 
perism ?  I  thought  you  had  more  sense.  Confound  it 
all !  I  had  just  one  nephew  whose  knock  at  my  street- 
door  did  not  make  me  tremble ;  he  was  a  bachelor  and  a 
thinker,  and  came  for  a  friendly  chat ;  the  rest  are  mar- 
ried men,  highwaymen,  who  come  to  say,  'Stand  and 
deliver ; '  and  now  even  you  want  to  join  the  giddy 
throng.  Well,  don't  ask  me  to  have  any  hand  in  it. 
You  are  a  man  of  promise  ;  and  you  might  as  well  hang 
a  millstone  round  your  neck  as  a  wife.  Marriage  is  a 
greater  mistake  than  ever  now ;  the  women  dress  more 
and  manage  worse.  I  met  your  cousin  Jack  the  other 
day,  and  his  wife  with  seventy  pounds  on  her  back  ;  and 
next  door  to  paupers.  No ;  whilst  you  are  a  bachelor, 
like  me,  you  are  my  favorite,  and  down  in  my  will  for  a 
lump.  Once  marry,  and  you  join  the  noble  army  of  foot- 
pads, leeches,  vultures,  paupers,  gone  coons,  and  babblers 
about  brats  —  and  I  disown  you." 

There  was  no  hoj)e  from  old  Crusty.  Christopher  left 
him,  snubbed  and  heart-sick.  At  last  he  met  a  sensible 
man,  who  made  him  see  there  was  no  short  cut  in  that 
profession.  He  must  be  content  to  play  the  up-hill 
game;  must  settle  in  some  good  neighborhood;  marry, 
if  possible,  since  husbands  and  fathers  of  families  prefer 
married  physicians;  and  so  be  poor  at  thirty,  comfort- 
able at  forty,  and  rich  at  fifty  —  perhaps. 

Then  Christopher  came  down  to  his  lodgings  at  Graves- 
end,  and  was  very  unhappy;  and  after  some  days  of 
misery,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Kosa  in  a  moment  of  impa- 
tience, despondency,  and  passion. 

Kosa  Lusignan  got  worse  and  worse.  The  slight  but 
frequent  hemorrhage  was  a  drain  upon  her  system,  and 
weakened  her  visibly.  She  began  to  lose  her  rich  com- 
plexion, and  sometimes  looked  almost  sallow;   and  a 


A  SIMPLETON.  25 

slight  circle  showed  itself  under  her  eyes.  These  symp- 
toms were  unfavorable ;  nevertheless,  Dr.  Snell  and  Mr. 
Wyman  accepted  them  cheerfully,  as  fresh  indications 
that  nothing  was  affected  but  the  liver ;  they  multiplied 
and  varied  their  prescriptions ;  the  malady  ignored  those 
prescriptions,  and  went  steadily  on.  Mr.  Lusignan  was 
terrified  but  helpless.     Eosa  resigned  and  reticent. 

But  it  was  not  in  human  nature  that  a  girl  of  this  age 
could  always  and  at  all  hours  be  mistress  of  herself. 
One  evening  in  particular  she  stood  before  the  glass  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  looked  at  herself  a  long  time  with 
horror.  "  Is  that  Kosa  Lusignan  ?  "  said  she,  aloud ;  "  it 
is  her  ghost." 

A  deep  groan  startled  her.  She  turned;  it  was  her 
father.  She  thought  he  was  fast  asleep  ;  and  so  indeed 
he  had  been ;  but  he  was  just  awaking,  and  heard  his 
daughter  utter  her  real  mind.  It  was  a  thunder-clap. 
"  Oh,  my  child !  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  cried. 

Then  Rosa  was  taken  by  surprise  in  her  turn.  She 
spoke  out.  "Send  for  a  great  physician,  papa.  Don't 
let  us  deceive  ourselves ;  it  is  our  only  chance." 

"  I  will  ask  Mr.  Wyman  to  get  a  physician  down  from 
London." 

"  No,  no ;  that  is  no  use ;  they  will  put  their  heads 
together,  and  he  will  say  whatever  Mr.  Wyman  tells 
him.  La !  papa,  a  clever  man  like  you,  not  to  see  what 
a  cheat  that  consultation  was.  Wliy,  from  what  jon 
told  me,  one  can  see  it  was  managed  so  that  Dr.  Snell 
could  not  possibly  have  an  opinion  of  his  own.  No ;  no 
more  echoes  of  Mr.  Chatterbox.  If  you  really  want  to 
cure  me,  send  for  Christopher  Staines." 

"  Dr.  Staines !  he  is  very  young." 

"But  he  is  very  clever,  and  he  is  not  an  echo.  He 
won't  care  how  many  doctors  he  contradicts  when  I  am 
in  danger.     Papa,  it  is  your  child's  one  chance." 


26  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  I'll  try  it,"  said  the  old  man,  eagerly.  "  How  confi- 
dent you  look  !  your  color  has  come  back.  It  is  an  inspi- 
ration.    Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  think  by  this  time  he  must  be  at  his  lodgings  in 
Gravesend.     Send  to  him  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Not  I !  I'll  go  to  him  to-night.  It  is  only  a  mile, 
and  a  fine  clear  night." 

*'  My  own,  good,  kind  papa !  Ah !  well,  come  what 
may,  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  be  loved.  Yes,  dear 
papa,  save  me.  I  am  very  young  to  die ;  and  he  loves 
me  so  dearly." 

The  old  man  bustled  away  to  put  on  something  warmer 
for  his  night  walk,  and  Rosa  leaned  back,  and  the  tears 
welled  out  of  her  eyes,  now  he  was  gone. 

Before  she  had  recovered  her  composure,  a  letter  was 
brought  her,  and  this  was  the  letter  from  Christopher 
Staines,  alluded  to  already. 

She  took  it  from  the  servant  with  averted  head,  not 
wishing  it  to  be  seen  she  had  been  crying,  and  she  started 
at  the  handwriting ;  it  seemed  such  a  coincidence  that  it 
should  come  just  as  she  was  sending  for  him. 

I\Iy  own  beloved  Rosa,  — I  now  write  to  tell  you,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  that  all  is  vain.  I  cannot  make,  nor  purchase, 
a  connection,  except  as  others  do,  by  time  and  patience.  Being 
a  bachelor  is  quite  against  a  young  physician.  If  I  had  a 
wife,  and  such  a  wife  as  you,  I  should  be  sure  to  get  on ;  you 
would  increase  my  connection  very  soon.  What,  then,  lies 
before  us?  I  see  but  two  things  —  to  wait  till  we  are  old,  and 
our  pockets  are  filled,  but  our  hearts  chilled  or  soured ;  or  else 
to  marry  at  once,  and  climb  the  hill  together.  If  you  love  me 
as  I  love  you,  you  will  be  saving  till  the  battle  is  over ;  and  I 
feel  I  could  find  energy  and  fortitude  for  both.  Your  father, 
who  thinks  so  much  of  wealth,  can  surely  settle  something  on 
you ;  and  I  am  not  too  poor  to  furnish  a  house  and  start  fair. 
I  am  not  quite  obscure  —  my  lectures  have  given  me  a  name  — 
and  to  you,  my  own  love,  I  hope  I  may  say  that  I  know  more 


A   SIMPLETON.  27 

than  many  of  ray  elders,  thanks  to  good  schools,  good  method, 
a  genuine  love  of  my  noble  profession,  and  a  tendency  to  study 
from  my  childhood.  Will  you  not  risk  something  on  my 
ability?  If  not,  God  help  me,  for  I  shall  lose  you;  and  what 
is  life,  or  fame,  or  wealth,  or  any  mortal  thing  to  me,  without 
you  ?  I  cannot  accept  your  father's  decision  ;  you  must  decide 
my  fate. 

You  see  I  have  kept  away  from  you  until  I  can  do  so  no 
more.  All  this  time  the  world  to  me  has  seemed  to  want  the 
sun,  and  my  heart  pines  and  sickens  for  one  sight  of  you. 
Darling  Rosa,  pray  let  me  look  at  your  face  once  more. 

When  this  I'eaches  you  I  shall  be  at  your  gate.  Let  me 
see  you,  though  but  for  a  moment,  and  let  me  hear  my  fate 
from  no  lips  but  yours. — My  own  love,  your  heart-broken 
lover, 

Christopuer  Staines. 

This  letter  stunned  her  at  first.  Her  mind  of  late  had 
been  turned  away  from  love  to  such  stern  realities.  Now 
she  began  to  be  sorry  she  had  not  told  him.  "Poor 
thing ! "  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  little  knows  that  now 
all  is  changed.  Papa,  I  sometimes  think,  would  deny 
me  nothing  now ;  it  is  I  who  would  not  marry  him  —  to 
be  buried  by  him  in  a  month  or  two.    Poor  Christopher ! " 

The  next  moment  she  started  up  in  dismay.  Why,  her 
father  would  miss  him.  No ;  perhaps  catch  him  waiting 
for  her.  What  Avould  he  think  ?  What  would  Christopher 
think  ?  —  that  she  had  shown  her  papa  his  letter. 

She  rang  the  bell  hard.     The  footman  came. 

"  Send  Harriet  to  me  this  instant.  Oh,  and  ask  papa 
to  come  to  me." 

Then  she  sat  down  and  dashed  off  a  line  to  Christopher. 
This  was  for  Harriet  to  take  out  to  him.  Anything  better 
than  for  Christopher  to  be  caught  doing  w^hat  was  wrong. 

The  footman  came  back  first.  "If  you  please,  miss, 
master  has  gone  out." 

"  Eun  after  him  —  the  road  to  Gravesend." 


28  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Yes,  miss." 

"No.     It  is  no  itse.     Nevermind." 

"Yes,  miss." 

Then  Harriet  came  in.     "  Did  you  want  me,  miss  ?  " 

"  Yes.     No  —  never  mind  now." 

She  was  afraid  to  do  anything  for  fear  of  making 
matters  worse.  She  went  to  the  window,  and  stood  look- 
ing anxiously  out,  with  her  hands  working.  Presently 
she  uttered  a  little  scream  and  shrank  away  to  the  sofa. 
She  sank  down  on  it,  half  sitting,  half  lying,  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  waited. 

Staines,  with  a  lover's  impatience,  had  been  more  than 
an  hour  at  the  gate,  or  walking  up  and  down  close  by  it, 
his  heart  now  burning  with  hope,  now  freezing  with  fear, 
that  she  would  decline  a  meeting  on  these  terms. 

At  last  the  postman  came,  and  then  he  saw  he  was  too 
soon;  but  now  in  a  few  minutes  Eosa  would  have  his 
letter,  and  then  he  should  soon  know  whether  she  would 
come  or  not.  He  looked  up  at  the  drawing-room  windows. 
They  were  full  of  light.  She  was  there  in  all  probability. 
Yet  she  did  not  come  to  them.  But  why  should  she,  if 
she  was  coming  out  ? 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  road.  She  did  not  come. 
His  heart  began  to  sicken  with  doubt.  His  head  drooped ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  owing  to  this  that  he  almost  ran 
against  a  gentleman  who  was  coming  the  other  way. 
The  moon  shone  bright  on  both  faces. 

"  Dr.  Staines  ! "  said  Mr.  Lusignan  surprised.  Chris- 
topher uttered  an  ejaculation  more  eloquent  than  words. 

They  stared  at  each  other. 

"  You  were  coming  to  call  on  us  ?  " 

"N — no,"  stammered  Christopher. 

Lusignan  thought  that  odd ;  however,  he  said  politely, 
"No  matter,  it  is  fortunate.  Would  you  mind  coming 
in?" 


A  SIMPLETON.  29 

"No,"  faltered  Christopher,  and  stared  at  him  ruefully, 
puzzled  iuore  and  more,  but  beginning  to  think,  after  all, 
it  might  be  a  casual  meeting. 

They  entered  the  gate,  and  in  one  moment  he  saw 
Kosa  at  the  window,  and  she  saw  him. 

Then  he  altered  his  opinion  again.  Eosa  had  sent  her 
father  out  to  him.  But  how  was  this  ?  The  old  man 
did  not  seem  angry.  Christopher's  heart  gave  a  leap 
inside  him,  and  he  began  to  glow  with  the  wildest  hopes. 
For,  what  could  this  mean  but  relenting  ? 

Mr.  Lusignan  took  him  first  into  the  study,  and  lighted 
two  candles  himself.  He  did  not  want  the  servants 
prying. 

The  lights  showed  Christopher  a  change  in  Mr. 
Lusignan.     He  looked  ten  years  older. 

"■  You  are  not  well,  sir,"  said  Christopher  gently. 

"  My  health  is  well  enough,  but  I  am  a  broken-hearted 
man.  Dr.  Staines,  forget  all  that  passed  here  at  your 
last  visit.  All  that  is  over.  Thank  you  for  loving  my 
jioor  girl  as  you  do ;  give  me  your  hand ;  God  bless  you. 
Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  is  as  a  physician  I  invite  you 
now.     She  is  ill,  sir,  very,  very  ill." 

"111!  and  not  tell  me  ! " 

"  She  kept  it  from  you,  my  poor  friend,  not  to  distress 
you ;  and  she  tried  to  keep  it  from  me,  but  how  could 
she  ?  For  two  months  she  has  had  some  terrible  com- 
plaint—  it  is  destroying  her.  She  is  the  ghost  of  herself. 
Oh,  my  poor  child !  my  child ! " 

The  old  man  sobbed  aloud.  The  young  man  stood 
trembling,  and  ashy  pale.  Still,  the  habits  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  the  experience  of  dangers  overcome,  together 
with  a  certain  sense  of  power,  kept  him  up ;  but,  above 
all,  love  and  duty  said,  "Be  firm."  He  asked  for  an  out* 
line  of  the  symptoms. 

They  alarmed  him  greatly. 


30  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Let  us  lose  no  more  time,"  said  he.     "  I  will  see  her 

at  once." 

"  Do  you  object  to  my  being  present  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  Dr.  Snell  says  it  is,  and  Mr. 
Wyman  ?  " 

"  By  all  means  —  after  I  have  seen  her." 

This  comforted  Mr.  Lusignan.  He  was  to  get  an  inde* 
pendent  judgment,  at  all  events. 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  Dr.  Staines 
paused  and  leaned  against  the  baluster.  "Give  me  a 
moment,"  said  he.  "The  patient  must  not  know  how 
my  heart  is  beating,  and  she  must  see  nothing  in  my 
face  but  what  I  choose  her  to  see.  Give  me  your  ha,nd 
once  more,  sir;  let  us  both  control  ourselves.  Now 
announce  me." 

Mr.  Lusignan  opened  the  door,  and  said,  with  forced 
cheerfulness,  "Dr.  Staines,  my  dear,  come  to  give  you 
the  benefit  of  his  skill." 

She  lay  on  the  sofa,  just  as  we  left  her.  Only  her 
bosom  began  to  heave. 

Then  Christopher  Staines  drew  himself  up,  and  the 
majesty  of  knowledge  and  love  together  seemed  to  dilate 
his  noble  frame.  He  fixed  his  eye  on  that  reclining, 
panting  figure,  and  stepped  lightly  but  firmly  across  the 
room  to  know  the  worst,  like  a  lion  walking  up  to  levelled 
lances. 


A  SIMPLETON.  31 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  young  physician  walked  steadily  up  to  his  patient 
without  taking  his  eye  off  her,  and  drew  a  chair  to  her 
side. 

Then  she  took  down  one  hand — the  left  — and  gave  it 
him,  averting  her  face  tenderly,  and  still  covering  it  with 
her  right ;  "For,"  said  she  to  herself,  "I  am  such  a  fright 
now."  This  opportune  reflection,  and  her  heaving  hosom, 
proved  that  she  at  least  felt  herself  something  more  than 
his  patient.  Her  pretty  consciousness  made  his  task  more 
difficult ;  nevertheless,  he  only  allowed  himself  to  press 
her  hand  tenderly  with  both  his  palms  one  moment,  and 
then  he  entered  on  his  functions  bravely.  "  I  am  here 
as  your  physician." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she  softly. 

He  gently  detained  the  hand,  and  put  his  finger  lightly 
to  her  pulse ;  it  was  palpitating,  and  a  fallacious  test. 
Oh,  how  that  beating  pulse,  by  love's  electric  current,  set 
his  own  heart  throbbing  in  a  moment ! 

He  put  her  hand  gently,  reluctantly  down,  and  said, 
"  Oblige  me  by  turning  this  way."  She  turned,  and  he 
winced  internally  at  the  change  in  her;  but  his  face 
betrayed  nothing.  He  looked  at  her  full ;  and,  after  a 
pause,  put  her  some  questions :  one  was  as  to  the  color 
of  the  hemorrhage.     She  said  it  was  bright  red. 

"  Not  a  tinge  of  purple  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she  hopefully,  mistaking  him. 

He  suppressed  a  sigh. 

Then  he  listened  at  her  shoulder-blade  and  at  her 
chest,  and  made  her  draw  her  breath  while  he  was 


32  A   SIMPLETON. 

listening.  The  acts  were  simple,  and  usual  in  medicine, 
hut  there  was  a  deep,  patient,  silent  intensity  about  his 
way  of  doing  them. 

Mr.  Lusignan  crept  nearer,  and  stood  with  both  hands 
on  a  table,  and  his  old  head  bowed,  awaiting  yet  dread- 
ing the  verdict. 

Up  to  this  time.  Dr.  Staines,  instead  of  tapping  and 
squeezing,  and  pulling  the  patient  about,  had  never 
touched  her  with  his  hand,  and  only  grazed  her  with 
his  ear;  but  now  he  said  "Allow  me,"  and  put  both 
hands  to  her  waist,  more  lightly  and  reverently 
than  I  can  describe ;  "  Now  draw  a  deep  breath,  if  you 
please." 

"  There ! " 

"If  you  could  draw  a  deeper  still,"  said  he,  insinu- 
atingly. 

"  There,  then !  "  said  she,  a  little  pettishly. 

Dr.  Staines's  eye  kindled. 

"  Hum !  "  said  he.  Then,  after  a  considerable  pause, 
"Are  you  better  or  worse  after  each  hemorrhage  ?  " 

"  La !  "  said  Eosa ;  "  they  never  asked  me  that.  Why, 
better." 

"  No  faintness  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit." 

"  Rather  a  sense  of  relief,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  feel  lighter  and  better." 

The  examination  was  concluded. 

Dr.  Staines  looked  at  Eosa,  and  then  at  her  father. 
The  agony  in  that  aged  face,  and  the  love  that  agony 
implied,  won  him,  and  it  was  to  the  parent  he  turned  to 
give  his  verdict. 

"  The  hemorrhage  is  from  the  lungs  "  — 

Lusignan  interrupted  him :  "  From  the  lungs  !  "  cried 
he,  in  dismay. 

"  Yes ;  a  slight  congestion  of  the  lungs." 


A  SIMPLETON.  33 

"  But  not  incurable  !     Oh,  not  incurable,  doctor  ! " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  It  is  curable  —  easily  —  by  remov- 
ing the  cause." 

"  And  what  is  the  cause  ?  " 

"  The  cause  ?  "  —  he  hesitated,  and  looked  rather 
uneasy.  —  ''  Well,  the  cause,  sir,  is  —  tight  stays." 

The  tranquillity  of  the  meeting  was  instantly  disturbed. 
«  Tight  stays  !  Me  !  "  cried  Kosa.  "  Why,  I  am  the 
loosest  girl  in  England.  Look,  papa !  "  And,  without 
any  apparent  effort,  she  drew  herself  in,  and  poked  her 
little  fist  between  her  sash  and  her  gown.     "There  !  " 

Dr.  Staines  smiled  sadly  and  a  little  sarcastically  :  he 
was  evidently  shy  of  encountering  the  lady  in  this  argu- 
ment ;  but  he  was  more  at  his  ease  with  her  father ;  so 
he  turned  towards  him  and  lectured  him  freely. 

"That  is  wonderful,  sir;  and  the  first  four  or  five 
female  patients  that  favored  me  with  it,  made  me  dis- 
believe my  other  senses;  but  Miss  Lusignan  is  now 
about  the  thirtieth  who  has  shown  me  that  marvelloas 
feat,  with  a  calm  countenance  that  belies  the  herculean 
effort.  Nature  has  her  every-day  miracles :  a  boa-con- 
strictor, diameter  seventeen  inches,  can  swallow  a  buffalo ; 
a  woman,  with  her  stays  bisecting  her  almost,  and  lacer- 
ating her  skin,  can  yet  for  one  moment  make  herself 
seem  slack,  to  deceive  a  juvenile  physician.  The  snake 
is  the  miracle  of  expansion ;  the  woman  is  the  prodigy 
of  contraction." 

"Highly  grateful  for  the  comparison!"  cried  Eosa. 
"  Women  and  snakes  !  " 

Dr.  Staines  blushed  and  looked  uncomfortable.  "I 
did  not  mean  to  be  offensive  ;  it  certainly  was  a  very 
clumsy  comparison. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lusignan,  impa- 
tiently. "Be  quiet,  Kosa,  and  let  Dr.  Staines  and  me 
talk  sense." 


34  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Oh,  then  I  am  nobody  in  the  business ! "  said  this 
wise  young  lady. 

"  You  are  everybody,"  said  Staines,  soothingly.  "But," 
suggested  he,  obsequiously,  "  if  you  don't  mind,  I  would 
rather  explain  my  views  to  your  father  —  on  this  one 
subject." 

"  And  a  pretty  subject  it  is  ! " 

Dr.  Staines  then  invited  Mr.  Lusignan  to  his  lodg- 
ings, and  promised  to  explain  the  matter  anatomically. 
"  Meantime,"  said  he,  "  would  you  be  good  enough  to  put 
your  hands  to  my  waist,  as  I  did  to  the  patient's." 

Mr.  Lusignan  complied;  and  the  patient  began  to 
titter  directly,  to  put  them  out  of  countenance. 

"  Please  observe  what  takes  place  when  I  draw  a  full 
breath. 

"Now  apply  the  same  test  to  the  patient.  Breathe 
your  best,  please.  Miss  Lusignan." 

The  patient  put  on  a  face  full  of  saucy  mutiny. 

"  To  oblige  us  both." 

"  Oh,  how  tiresome  ! " 

"I  am  aware  it  is  rather  laborious,"  said  Staines,  a 
little  dryly  ;  "  but  to  oblige  your  father ! " 

"Oh,  anything  to  oblige  papa,"  said  she,  spitefully. 
"  There  !  And  I  do  hope  it  will  be  the  last  —  la !  no  ; 
I  don't  hope  that,  neither." 

Dr.  Staines  politely  ignored  her  little  attempts  to 
interrupt  the  argument.  "You  found,  sir,  that  the 
muscles  of  my  waist,  and  my  intercostal  ribs  themselves, 
rose  and  fell  with  each  inhalation  and  exhalation  of  air 
by  the  lungs." 

"I  did  ;  but  my  daughter's  waist  was  like  dead  wood, 
and  so  were  her  lower  ribs." 

At  this  volunteer  statement,  Eosa  colored  to  her 
temples.  "  Thanks,  papa !  Pack  me  off  to  London,  and 
sell  me  for  a  big  doll  1 " 


A   SEVIPLETON.  35 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  lecturer,  mild  and  pertina.- 
cious,  "with  us  the  lungs  have  room  to  blow,  and  the 
whole  bony  frame  expands  elastic  with  them,  like  the 
woodwork  of  a  blacksmith's  bellows;  but  with  this 
patient,  and  many  of  her  sex,  that  noble  and  divinely 
framed  bellows  is  crippled  and  confined  by  a  powerful 
machine  of  human  construction ;  so  it  works  lamely  and 
feebly  :  consequently  too  little  air,  and  of  course  too 
little  oxygen,  passes  through  that  spongy  organ  whose 
very  life  is  air.  Now  mark  the  special  result  in  this 
case :  being  otherwise  healthy  and  vigorous,  our  patient's 
system  sends  into  the  lungs  more  blood  than  that  one 
crippled  organ  can  deal  with  ;  a  small  quantity  becomes 
extravasated  at  odd  times ;  it  accumulates,  and  would 
become  dangerous  ;  then  Nature,  strengthened  by  sleep, 
and  by  some  hours'  relief  from  the  diabolical  engine, 
makes  an  effort  and  flings  it  off :  that  is  why  the  hem- 
orrhage comes  in  the  morning,  and  why  she  is  the  better 
for  it,  feeling  neither  faint  nor  sick,  but  relieved  of  a 
weight.  This,  sir,  is  the  rationale  of  the  complaint ;  and 
it  is  to  you  I  must  look  for  the  cure.  To  judge  from  my 
other  female  patients,  and  from  the  few  words  Miss 
Lusignan  has  let  fall,  I  fear  we  must  not  count  on  any 
very  hearty  co-operation  from  her:  but  you  are  her 
father,  and  have  great  authority ;  I  conjure  you  to  use  it 
to  the  full,  as  you  once  used  it  —  to  my  sorrow  —  in  this 
very  room.  I  am  forgetting  my  character.  I  was  asked 
here  only  as  her  physician.     Good-evening." 

He  gave  a  little  gulp,  and  hurried  away,  with  an 
abruptness  that  touched  the  father  and  offended  the 
sapient  daughter. 

However,  Mr.  Lusignan  followed  him,  and  stopped 
him  before  he  left  the  house,  and  thanked  him  warmly ; 
and  to  his  surprise,  begged  him  to  call  again  in  a  day  or 
two. 


36  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Well,  Rosa,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  I  am  very  unfortunate  in  my  doctors. 
Mr.  Wyman  is  a  chatterbox  and  knows  nothing.  Dr. 
Snell  is  Mr.  Wyman's  echo.  Christopher  is  a  genius, 
and  they  are  always  full  of  crotchets.  A  pretty  doctor ! 
Gone  away,  and  not  prescribed  for  me  ! " 

Mr.  Lusignan  admitted  it  was  odd.  "But,  after  all," 
said  he,  "  if  medicine  does  you  no  good  ?  " 

"  Ah !  but  any  medicine  he  had  prescribed  would  have 
done  me  good,  and  that  makes  it  all  the  unkinder.^' 

"  If  you  think  so  highly  of  his  skill,  why  not  take  his 
advice  ?     It  can  do  no  harm." 

"  No  harm  ?  Why,  if  I  was  to  leave  them  off  I  should 
catch  a  dreadful  cold ;  and  that  would  be  sure  to  settle 
on  my  chest,  and  carry  me  off,  in  my  present  delicate 
state.     Besides,  it  is  so  unfeminine  not  to  wear  them." 

This  staggered  Mr.  Lusignan,  and  he  was  afraid  to 
press  the  point ;  but  what  Staines  had  said  fermented  in 
his  mind. 

Dr.  Snell  and  Mr.  Wyman  continued  their  visits  and 
their  prescriptions. 

The  patient  got  a  little  worse. 

Mr.  Lusignan  hoped  Christopher  would  call  again,  but 
he  did  not. 

When  Dr.  Staines  had  satisfied  himself  that  the  dis- 
order was  easily  curable,  then  wounded  pride  found  an 
entrance  even  into  his  loving  heart.  That  two  strangers 
should  have  been  consulted  before  him !  He  was  only 
sent  for  because  they  could  not  cure  her. 

As  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  repeat  his  visit,  Mr. 
Lusignan  called  on  him,  and  said,  politely,  he  had  hoped 
to  receive  another  call  ere  this.  "Personally,"  said  he, 
"  I  was  much  struck  with  your  observations ;  but  my 
daughter  is  afraid  she  will  catch  cold  if  she  leaves  oif 
her  corset,  and  that,  you  know,  might  be  very  serious." 


A  SIMPLETON.  37 

Dr.  Staines  groaned,  and,  when  he  had  groaned,  he 
lectured.  "Female  patients  are  wonderfully  monoto- 
nous in  this  matter ;  they  have  a  programme  of  evasions ; 
and  whether  the  patient  is  a  lady  or  a  housemaid,  she 
seldom  varies  from  that  programme.  You  find  her 
breathing  life's  air  with  half  a  bellows,  and  you  tell 
her  so.  '  Oh,  no,'  says  she  ;  and  does  the  gigantic  feat 
of  contraction  we  witnessed  that  evening  at  your  house. 
But,  on  inquiry,  you  learn  there  is  a  raw  red  line 
ploughed  in  her  flesh  by  the  cruel  stays.  'What  is 
that  ? '  you  ask,  and  flatter  yourself  you  have  pinned 
her.  jS'ot  a  bit.  'That  was  the  last  pair.  I  changed 
them,  because  they  hurt  me.'  Driven  out  of  that  by 
proofs  of  recent  laceration,  they  say,  '  If  I  leave  them 
off  I  should  catch  my  death  of  cold,'  which  is  equivalent 
to  saying  there  is  no  flannel  in  the  shops,  no  common 
sense  nor  needles  at  home." 

He  then  laid  before  him  some  large  French  plates, 
showing  the  organs  of  the  human  trunk,  and  bade  him 
observe  in  how  small  a  space,  and  with  what  skill,  the 
Creator  has  packed  so  many  large  yet  delicate  organs,  so 
that  they  should  be  free  and  secure  from  friction,  though 
so  close  to  each  other.  He  showed  him  the  liver,  an 
organ  weighing  four  pounds,  and  of  large  circumference ; 
the  lungs,  a  very  large  organ,  suspended  in  the  chest  and 
impatient  of  pressure  ;  the  heart,  the  stomach,  the  spleen, 
all  of  them  too  closely  and  artfully  packed  to  bear  any 
further  compression. 

Having  thus  taken  him  by  the  eye,  he  took  him  by 
the  mind. 

"Is  it  a  small  thing  for  the  creature  to  say  to  her 
Creator,  '  I  can  pack  all  this  egg-china  better  than  you 
can,'  and  thereupon  to  jam  all  those  vital  organs  close, 
by  a  powerful,  a  very  powerful  and  ingenious  machine  ? 
Is  it  a  small  thing  for  that  sex,  which;  for  good  reasons, 


38  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  Omniscient  has  made  larger  in  the  waist  than  the 
male,  to  say  to  her  Creator,  '  You  don't  know  your  busi- 
ness ;  women  ought  to  be  smaller  in  the  waist  than  men, 
and  shall  be  throughout  the  civilized  world '  ?  " 

In  short,  he  delivered  so  many  true  and  pointed  things 
on  this  trite  subject,  that  the  old  gentleman  was  con- 
vinced, and  begged  him  to  come  over  that  very  evening 
and  convince  Rosa. 

Dr.  Staines  shook  his  head  dolefully,  and  all  his  fire 
died  out  of  him  at  having  to  face  the  fair.  "  Reason  will 
be  wasted.  Authority  is  the  only  weapon.  My  pro- 
fession and  my  reading  have  both  taught  me  that  the 
whole  character  of  her  sex  undergoes  a  change  the 
moment  a  man  interferes  with  their  dress.  From 
Chaucer's  day  to  our  own,  neither  public  satire  nor 
private  remonstrance  has  ever  shaken  any  of  their 
monstrous  fashions.  Easy,  obliging,  pliable,  and  weaker 
of  will  than  men  in  other  things,  do  but  touch  their 
dress,  however  objectionable,  and  rock  is  not  harder, 
iron  is  not  more  stubborn,  than  these  soft  and  yielding 
creatures.     It  is  no  earthly  use  my  coming  —  I'll  come." 

He  came  that  very  evening,  and  saw  directly  she  was 
worse.  "  Of  course,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  you  have  not  taken 
my  advice." 

Rosa  replied  with  a  toss  and  an  evasion,  "  I  was  not 
worth  a  prescription  ! " 

"  A  physician  can  prescribe  without  sending  his  patient 
to  the  druggist ;  and  when  he  does,  then  it  is  his  words 
are  gold." 

Rosa  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of  lofty  incredulity. 

He  looked  ruefully  at  Mr.  Lusignan  and  was  silent. 
Rosa  smiled  sarcastically ;  she  thought  he  was  at  his 
wit's  end. 

Not  quite :  he  was  cudgelling  his  brains  in  search  of 
some  horribly  unscientific  argument,  that  might  prevail ; 


A  SIMPLETON.  39 

for  lie  felt  science  would  fall  dead  upon  so  fair  an  antag- 
onist. At  last  his  eye  kindled ;  he  had  hit  on  an  argu- 
ment unscientific  enough  for  anybody,  he  thought.  Said 
he,  ingratiatingly,  "You  believe  the  Old  Testament?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,  every  syllable." 

"  And  the  lessons  it  teaches  ?  " 

"  Certainly ! " 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  a  story  from  that  book.  A 
Syrian  general  had  a  terrible  disease.  He  consulted 
Elisha  by  deputy.  Elisha  said,  '  Bathe  seven  times  in  a 
certain  river,  Jordan,  and  you  will  get  well.'  The  general 
did  not  like  this  at  all ;  he  wanted  a  prescription  ;  wanted 
to  go  to  the  druggist ;  didn't  believe  in  hydropathy 
to  begin,  and,  in  any  case,  turned  up  his  nose  at  Jordan. 
"What !  bathe  in  an  Israelitish  brook,  when  his  own 
country  boasted  noble  rivers,  with  a  reputation  for 
sanctity  into  the  bargain  ?  In  short,  he  preferred  his 
leprosy  to  such  irregular  medicine.  But  it  happened, 
by  some  immense  fortuity,  that  one  of  his  servants, 
though  an  Oriental,  was  a  friend,  instead  of  a  flatterer ; 
and  this  sensible  fellow  said,  *  If  the  prophet  told  you 
to  do  some  great  and  difficult  thing,  to  get  rid  of  this 
fearful  malady,  would  not  you  do  it,  however  distasteful  ? 
and  can  you  hesitate  when  he  merely  says.  Wash  in  the 
Jordan,  and  be  healed  ?  '  The  general  listened  to  good 
sense,  and  cured  himself.  Your  case  is  parallel.  You 
would  take  quantities  of  foul  medicine  ;  you  would 
submit  to  some  painful  operation,  if  life  and  health 
depended  on  it ;  then  why  not  do  a  small  thing  for  a 
great  result  ?  You  have  only  to  take  off  an  unnatural 
machine  which  cripples  your  growing  frame,  and  was 
unknown  to  every  one  of  the  women  whose  forms  in 
Parian  marble  the  world  admires.  Off  with  that  mon- 
strosity, and  your  cure  is  as  certain  as  the  Syrian  gener- 
al's ;  though  science,  and  not  inspiration,  dictates  the 
easy  remedy." 


40  A   SIMPLETON. 

Rosa  had  listened  impatiently,  and  now  replied  with 
some  warmth,  "  This  is  shockingly  profane.  The  idea  of 
comparing  yourself  to  Elisha,  and  me  to  a  horrid  leper  ! 
Much  obliged !     Not  that  I  know  what  a  leper  is." 

"  Come,  come  !  that  is  not  fair,"  said  Mr.  Lusignan. 
"  lie  only  compared  the  situation,  not  the  people." 

"  But,  papa,  the  Bible  is  not  to  be  dragged  into  the 
common  affairs  of  life." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  papa  !  Well,  it  is  not  Sunday,  but  I  have  had  a 
sermon.  This  is  the  clergyman,  and  you  are  the  com- 
mentator —  he !  he  !  And  so  now  let  us  go  back  from 
divinity  to  medicine.  I  repeat "  (this  was  the  first  time 
she  had  said  it)  "  that  my  other  doctors  give  me  real 
prescriptions,  written  in  hieroglyphics.  You  can't  look, 
at  them  without  feeling  there  must  be  something  in 
them." 

An  angry  spot  rose  on  Christopher's  cheek,  but  he 
only  said,  "  And  are  your  other  doctors  satisfied  with  the 
progress  your  disorder  is  making  under  their  superin- 
tcAidence  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  Papa,  tell  him  what  they  say,  and  I'll 
find  him  their  prescriptions."  She  went  to  a  drawer, 
and  rummaged,  affecting  not  to  listen. 

Lusignan  complied.  "  First  of  all,  sir,  I  must  tell  you 
they  are  confident  it  is  not  the  lungs,  but  the  liver." 

*'  The  what !  "  shouted  Christopher. 

"  Ah !  "  screamed  Eosa.     "  Oh,  don't !  —  bawling ! " 

"  And  don't  you  screech,"  said  her  father,  with  a  look 
of  misery  and  apprehension  impartially  distributed  on 
the  resounding  pair. 

"  You  must  have  misunderstood  them,"  murmured 
Staines,  in  a  voice  that  was  now  barely  audible  a  yard 
off.  "The  hemorrhage  of  a  bright  red  color,  and 
expelled  without  effort  or  nausea  ?  " 


A  SBIPLETON.  41 

"From  the  liver  —  they  have  assured  me  again  and 
again,"  said  Lusignan. 

Christoplier's  face  still  ■wore  a  look  of  blank  amaze- 
ment, till  Eosa  herself  confirmed  it  positively. 

Then  he  cast  a  look  of  agony  upon  her,  and  started  up 
in  a  passion,  forgetting  once  more  that  his  host  abhorred 
the  sonorous.  "  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  "  he  cried,  "  that 
the  noble  profession  of  medicine  should  be  disgraced  by 
ignorance  such  as  this."  Then  he  said,  sternly,  "  Sir, 
do  not  mistake  my  motives';  but  I  decline  to  have  any- 
thing further  to  do  with  this  case,  until  those  two  gentle- 
men have  been  relieved  of  it ;  and,  as  this  is  very  harsh, 
and  on  my  part  unprecedented,  I  will  give  you  one  reason 
out  of  many  I  could  give  you.  Sir,  there  is  no  road 
from  the  liver  to  the  throat  by  which  blood  can  travel 
in  this  way,  defying  the  laws  of  gravity  ;  and  they  knew, 
from  the  patient,  that  no  strong  expellent  force  has  ever 
been  in  operation.  Their  diagnosis,  therefore,  implies 
agnosis,  or  ignorance  too  great  to  be  forgiven.  I  will 
not  share  my  patient  with  two  gentlemen  who  know  so 
little  of  medicine,  and  know  nothing  of  anatomy,  which 
is  the  A  B  C  of  medicine.    Can  I  see  their  prescriptions  ?  " 

These  were  handed  to  him.  '^  Good  heavens ! "  said 
he,  "  have  you  taken  all  these  ?  " 

«  Most  of  them." 

"Why,  then  you  have  drunk  about  two  gallons  of 
unwholesome  liquids,  and  eaten  a  pound  or  two  of  un- 
wholesome solids.  These  medicines  have  co-operated 
with  the  malady.  The  disorder  lies,  not  in  the  hemor- 
rhage, but  in  the  precedent  extravasation ;  that  is  a 
drain  on  the  system ;  and  how  is  the  loss  to  be  supplied  ? 
Why,  by  taking  a  little  more  nourishment  than  before  ; 
there  is  no  other  way ;  and  probably  Nature,  left  to 
herself,  might  have  increased  your  appetite  to  meet  the 
occasion.      But   those   two   worthies   have   struck   thiU 


42  A  SIMPLETON. 

weapon  out  of  Nature's  hand ;  they  have  peppered  away 
at  the  poor  ill-used  stomach  with  drugs  and  draughts, 
not  very  deleterious  I  grant  you,  but  all  more  or  less 
indigestible,  and  all  tending,  not  to  whet  the  appetite, 
but  to  clog  the  stomach,  or  turn  the  stomach,  or  pester 
the  stomach,  and  so  impair  the  appetite,  and  so  co- 
operate, indirectly,  with  the  malady." 

"This  is  good  sense,"  said  Lusignan.  "I  declare,  I  — 
I  wish  I  knew  how  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  that,  papa." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  is  not  worth  a  rumpus." 

"  I'll  do  it  too  politely  for  that.  Christopher,  you  are 
very  clever  —  terribly  clever.  Whenever  I  threw  their 
medicines  away,  I  was  always  a  little  better  that  day. 
I  will  sacrifice  them  to  you.  It  is  a  sacrifice.  They  are 
both  so  kind  and  chatty,  and  don't  grudge  me  hiero- 
glyphics ;  now  you  do." 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  two  sweet  letters  to  Dr.  Snell 
and  Mr.  Wyman,  thanking  them  for  the  great  attention 
they  had  paid  her ;  but  finding  herself  getting  steadily 
worse,  in  spite  of  all  they  had  done  for  her,  she  pro- 
posed to  discontinue  her  medicines  for  a  time,  and  try 
change  of  air. 

"  And  suppose  they  call  to  see  whether  you  are  chang- 
ing the  air  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,  papa  — '  not  at  home.' " 

The  notes  were  addressed  and  despatched. 

Then  Dr.  Staines  brightened  up,  and  said  to  Lusignan, 
"  I  am  now  happy  to  tell  you  that  I  have  overrated  the 
malady.  The  sad  change  I  see  in  Miss  Lusignan  is 
partly  due  to  the  great  bulk  of  unM^holesome  esculents 
she  has  been  eating  and  drinking  under  the  head  of 
medicines.  These  discontinued,  she  might  linger  on  for 
years,  existing,  though  not  living  —  the  tight-laced  can- 
not be  said  to  live.     But  if  she  would  be  healthy  and 


A   SIIVIPLETON.  43 

happy,  let  her  throw  that  diabolical  machine  into  the 
fire.  It  is  no  use  asking  her  to  loosen  it ;  she  can't. 
Once  there,  the  temptation  is  too  strong.  Off  with  it, 
and,  take  my  word,  you  will  be  one  of  the  healthiest  and 
most  vigorous  young  ladies  in  Europe." 

Rosa  looked  rueful,  and  almost  sullen.  She  said  she 
had  parted  with  her  doctors  for  him,  but  she  really  could 
not  go  about  without  stays.  "  They  are  as  loose  as  they 
can  be.     See  !  " 

"That  part  of  the  programme  is  disposed  of,"  said 
Christopher.  "  Please  go  on  to  No.  2.  How  about  the 
raw  red  line  where  the  loose  machine  has  sawed  you  ?  " 

"  What  red  line  ?  No  such  thing !  Somebody  or 
other  has  been  peeping  in  at  my  window.  I'll  have  the 
ivy  cut  down  to-morrow." 

"  Simpleton ! "  said  Mr.  Lusignan,  angrily.  "  You 
have  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  There  is  such  a  mark, 
then,  and  this  extraordinary  young  man  has  discerned  it 
with  the  eye  of  science." 

"  He  never  discerned  it  at  all,"  said  Eosa,  red  as  fire ; 
"  and,  what  is  more,  he  never  will." 

"  I  don't  want  to.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to.  I  hope 
it  will  be  gone  in  a  week." 

"I  wish  7/oti  were  gone  now  —  exposing  me  in  this 
cruel  way,"  said  Rosa,  angry  with  herself  for  having 
said  an  idiotic  thing,  and  furious  with  him  for  having 
made  her  say  it. 

"  Oh,  Rosa ! "  said  Christopher,  in  a  voice  of  tenderest 
reproach. 

But  Mr.  Lusignan  interfered  promptly.  "Rosa,  no 
noise.  I  will  not  have  you  snapping  at  your  best  friend 
and  mine.  If  you  are  excited,  you  had  better  retire  to 
your  own  room  and  compose  yourself.     I  hate  a  clamor." 

Rosa  made  a  wry  face  at  this  rebuke,  and  then  began 
to  cry  quietly. 


44  A   SIMPLETON. 

Every  tear  was  like  a  drop  of  blood  from  Christopher's 
heart.  "Pray  don't  scold  her,  sir,"  said  he,  ready  to 
snivel  himself.  "  She  meant  nothing  unkind :  it  is  only 
her  pretty  sprightly  way ;  and  she  did  not  really  imagine 
a  love  so  reverent  as  mine  "  — 

"  Don't  you  interfere  between  my  father  and  me,"  said 
this  reasonable  young  lady,  now  in  an  ungovernable 
state  of  feminine  irritability. 

"No,  Eosa,"  said  Christopher,  humbly.  "Mr.  Lusi- 
gnan,"  said  he,  "  I  hope  you  will  tell  her  that,  from  the 
very  first,  I  was  unwilling  to  enter  on  this  subject  with 
her.  Neither  she  nor  I  can  forget  my  double  character. 
I  have  not  said  half  as  much  to  her  as  I  ought,  being  her 
physician ;  and  yet  you  see  I  have  said  more  than  she 
can  bear  from  me,  who,  she  knows,  love  her  and  revere 
her.  Then,  once  for  all,  do  pray  let  me  put  this  deli- 
cate matter  into  your  hands  :  it  is  a  case  for  parental 
authority." 

"  Unf atherly  tyranny,  that  means,"  said  Eosa.  "  What 
business  have  gentlemen  interfering  in  such  things  ?  It 
is  unheard  of.     I  will  not  submit  to  it,  even  from  papa." 

"Well,  you  need  not  scream  at  me,"  said  Mr.  Lusi- 
gnan ;  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  Staines.  "  She 
is  impracticable,  you  see.  If  I  do  my  duty,  there  will 
be  a  disturbance." 

Now  this  roused  the  bile  of  Dr.  Staines.  "What, 
sir ! "  said  he,  "  you  could  separate  her  and  me  by  your 
authority,  here  in  this  very  room;  and  yet,  when  her 
life  is  at  stake,  you  abdicate  !  You  could  part  her  from 
a  man  who  loved  her  with  every  drop  of  his  heart,  —  and 
she  said  she  loved  him,  or,  at  all  events,  preferred  him 
to  others,  —  and  you  cannot  part  her  from  a  miserable 
corset,  although  you  see  in  her  poor  wasted  face  that  it 
is  carrying  her  to  the  churchyard.  In  that  case,  sir, 
there  is  but  one  thing  for  you  to  do,  —  withdraw  your 


A  SIMPLETON.  46 

opposition  and  let  me  marry  her.     As  lier  lover  I  am 

powerless ;  but  invest  me  with  a  husband's  authority, 
and  you  will  soon  see  the  roses  return  to  her  cheek,  and 
her  elastic  figure  expanding,  and  her  eye  beaming  with 
health  and  the  happiness  that  comes  of  perfect  health." 

Mr.  Lusignan  made  an  answer  neither  of  his  hearers 
expected.  He  said,  "  I  have  a  great  mind  to  take  you 
at  your  word.  I  am  too  old  and  fond  of  quiet  to  drive  a 
Simpleton  in  single  harness." 

This  contemptuous  speech,  and,  above  all,  the  word 
Simpleton,  which  had  been  applied  to  her  pretty  freely 
by  young  ladies  at  school,  and  always  galled  her  terribly, 
inflicted  so  intolerable  a  wound  on  Eosa's  vanity,  that 
she  was  ready  to  biu'st:  on  that,  of  course,  her  stays 
contributed  their  mite  of  physical  uneasiness.  Thus 
irritated  mind  and  body,  she  burned  to  strike  in  retm-n ; 
and  as  she  could  not  slap  her  father  in  the  presence  of 
another,  she  gave  it  Christopher  back-handed. 

"  You  can  turn  me  out  of  doors,"  said  she,  "  if  you  are 
tired  of  your  daughter,  but  I  am  not  such  a  simpleton  as 
to  marry  a  t3'rant.  No ;  he  has  shown  the  cloven  foot 
in  time.  A  husband's  authority,  indeed!"  Then  she 
turned  her  hand,  and  gave  it  him  direct.  "  You  told  me 
a  different  story  when  you  were  paying  your  court  to 
me ;  then  you  were  to  be  my  servant,  —  all  hypocritical 
sweetness.  You  had  better  go  and  marry  a  Circassian 
slave.  They  don't  wear  stays,  and  they  do  wear  trou- 
sers ;  so  she  will  be  iinfeminine  enough,  even  for  you. 
No  English  lady  would  let  her  husband  dictate  to  her 
about  such  a  thing.  I  can  have  as  many  husbands  as  I 
like,  without  falling  into  the  clutches  of  a  tyrant.  You 
are  a  rude,  indelicate  —  And  so  please  understand  it  is 
all  over  between  you  and  me." 

Both  her  auditors  stood  aghast,  for  she  uttered  this 
conclusion  with  a  dignity  of  which  the  opening  gav3  ny 


46  A   SIMPLETON. 

promise,  and  the  occasion,  weighed  in  masculine  balances, 
was  not  wortliy. 

"  You  do  not  mean  that.  You  cannot  mean  it,"  said 
Dr.  Staines,  aghast. 

"I  do  mean  it,"  said  she,  firmly;  "and,  if  you  are  a 
gentleman,  you  will  not  compel  me  to  say  it  twice  — 
three  times,  I  mean." 

At  this  dagger-stroke  Christopher  turned  very  pale, 
but  he  maintained  his  dignity.  "I  am  a  gentleman," 
said  he,  quietly,  "and  a  very  unfortunate  one.  Good- 
by,  sir;  thank  you  kindly.  Good-by,  Rosa;  God  bless 
you !  Oh,  pray  take  a  thought !  Kemember,  your  life 
and  death  are  in  your  own  hand  now.     I  am  powerless." 

And  he  left  the  house  in  sorrow,  and  just,  but  not 
pettish,  indignation. 

When  he  was  gone,  father  and  daughter  looked  at  each 
other,  and  there  was  the  silence  that  succeeds  a  storm. 

Rosa,  feeling  the  most  uneasy,  was  the  first  to  express 
her  satisfaction.  "  There,  he  is  gone,  and  I  am  glad  of 
it.  Now  you  and  I  shall  never  quarrel  again.  I  was 
quite  right.  Such  impertinence  !  Such  indelicacy !  A 
fine  prospect  for  me  if  I  had  married  such  a  man !  How- 
ever, he  is  gone,  and  so  there's  an  end  of  it.  The  idea ! 
telling  a  young  lady,  before  her  father,  she  is  tight-laced  ! 
If  you  had  not  been  there  I  could  have  forgiven  him. 
But  I  am  not ;  it  is  a  story.  Now,"  suddenly  exalting 
her  voice,  "  I  know  you  believe  him." 

"I  say  nothing,"  whispered  papa,  hoping  to  still  her 
by  example.     This  ruse  did  not  succeed. 

"  But  you  look  volumes,"  cried  she :  "  and  I  can't  bear 
it.  I  won't  bear  it.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  my 
maid."  And  with  this  felicitous  speech,  she  rang  the 
bell. 

"  You'll  break  the  wire  if  you  don't  mind,"  suggested 
her  father,  piteously. 


A  SIMPLETON.  47 

•'  All  the  better  !  "Why  should  not  wires  be  broken  as 
well  as  my  heart  ?  Oh,  here  she  is  !  Now,  Harriet, 
come  here." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  And  tell  the  truth.     Am  I  tight-laced  ?  " 

Harriet  looked  in  her  face  a  moment  to  see  what  was 
required  of  her,  and  then  said,  "  That  you  are  not,  miss. 
I  never  dressed  a  young  lady  as  wore  'em  easier  than 
you  do." 

"  There,  papa !     That  will  do,  Harriet." 

Harriet  retired  as  far  as  the  keyhole ;  she  saw  some- 
thing was  up. 

"Now,"  said  Eosa,  "you  see  I  was  right;  and,  after 
all,  it  was  a  match  you  did  not  approve.  Well,  it  is  all 
over,  and  now  you  may  write  to  your  favorite,  Colonel 
Bright.  If  he  comes  here,  I'll  box  his  old  ears.  I  hate 
him.  I  hate  them  all.  Forgive  your  wayward  girl.  I'll 
stay  with  you  all  my  days.  I  dare  say  that  will  not  be 
long,  now  I  have  quarrelled  with  my  guardian  angel; 
and  all  for  what  ?  Papa !  papa  !  how  can  you  sit  there 
and  not  speak  me  one  word  of  comfort  ?  '  Sivipleton  ? ' 
Ah  !  that  I  am  to  throw  away  a  love  a  queen  is  scarcely 
worthy  of ;  and  all  for  what  ?  Really,  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  ingratitude  and  wickedness  of  the  thing,  it  is  too 
laughable.     Ha  !  ha !  —  oh  !  oh  !  oh !  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

And  off  she  went  into  hysterics,  and  began  to  gulp 
and  choke  frightfully. 

Her  father  cried  for  help  in  dismay.  In  ran  Harriet, 
saw,  and  screamed,  but  did  not  lose  her  head ;  this  vera- 
cious person  whipped  a  pair  of  scissors  off  the  table,  and 
cut  the  young  lady's  stay-laces  directly.  Then  there  was 
a  burst  of  imprisoned  beauty ;  a  deep,  deep  sigh  of 
relief  came  from  a  bosom  that  would  have  done  honor 
to  Diana ;  and  the  scene  soon  concluded  with  fits  of 
harmless  weeping,  renewed  at  intervals. 


48  A   SIMPLETON. 

Wlien  it  liacl  settled  down  to  this,  her  father,  to  soothe 
her,  said  he  would  write  to  Dr.  Staines,  and  bring  about 
a  reconciliation,  if  she  liked. 

"No,"  said  she,  "you  shall  kill  me  sooner.  I  should 
die  of  shame." 

She  added,  "Oh,  pray,  from  this  hour,  never  mention 
his  name  to  me." 

And  then  she  had  another  cry. 

Mr.  Lusignan  was  a  sensible  man:  he  dropped  the 
subject  for  the  present ;  but  he  made  up  his  mind  to  one 
thing  —  that  he  would  never  part  with  Dr.  Staines  as  a 
physician. 

Next  day  Kosa  kept  her  own  room  until  dinner-time, 
ftnd  was  as  unhappy  as  she  deserved  to  be.  She  spent 
her  time  in  sewing  on  stiff  flannel  linings  and  crying. 
She  half  hoped  Christopher  would  write  to  her,  so  that 
she  might  write  back  that  she  forgave  him.  But  not  a 
line. 

At  half-past  six  her  volatile  mind  took  a  turn,  real  or 
affected.  She  would  cry  no  more  for  an  ungrateful  fel- 
low,—  ungrateful  for  not  seeing  through  the  stone  walls 
how  she  had  been  employed  all  the  morning ;  and  making 
it  up.  So  she  bathed  her  red  eyes,  made  a  .great  altera- 
tion in  her  dress,  and  came  dancing  into  the  room  hum- 
ming an  Italian  ditty. 

As  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  dining-room  after 
dinner,  two  letters  came  by  the  same  post  to  Mr.  Lusignan 
from  Mr.  Wyman  and  Dr.  Snell. 

Mr.  AVyman's  letter :  — 

Dear  Sir, — lam  sorry  to  hear  from  Miss  Lusignan  that 

she  intends  to  discontinue  medical  advice.     The  disorder  was 

progressing  favorably,  and  nothing  to  be  feared,  under  proper 

treatment. 

Yours,  etc. 


A  SIMPLETON".  49 

Dr.  Snell's  letter:  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  Miss  Lusignan  has  written  to  me  somewhat 
impatiently,  and  seems  disposed  to  dispense  with  my  visits.  I 
do  not,  however,  think  it  right  to  withdraw  without  telling  you 
candidly  that  this  is  an  unwise  step.  Your  daughter's  health 
is  in  a  very  precarious  condition. 

Yours,  etc. 

Rosa  burst  out  laughing.  "I  have  nothing  to  fear, 
and  I'm  on  the  brink  of  the  grave.  That  comes  of 
writing  without  a  consultation.  If  they  had  written 
at  one  table,  I  should  have  been  neither  well  nor  ill. 
Poor  Christopher ! "  and  her  sweet  face  began  to  work 
piteously. 

"  There  !  there  !  drink  a  glass  of  wine." 

She  did,  and  a  tear  with  it,  that  ran  into  the  glass  like 
lightning. 

Warned  by  this  that  grief  sat  very  near  the  bright, 
hilarious  surface,  Mr.  Lusignan  avoided  all  emotional 
subjects  for  the  present.  Next  day,  however,  he  told 
her  she  might  dismiss  her  lover,  but  no  power  should 
make  him  dismiss  his  pet  physician,  unless  her  health 
improved. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  that  excuse  for  inflicting  him  on 
me  again,"  said  the  young  hypocrite. 

She  kept  her  word.  She  got  better  and  better,  stronger, 
brighter,  gayer. 

She  took  to  walking  every  day,  and  increasing  the  dis- 
tance, till  she  could  walk  ten  miles  Avithout  fatigue. 

Her  favorite  walk  was  to  a  certain  cliff  tliat  com- 
manded a  noble  view  of  the  sea.  To  get  to  it  she  must 
pass  through  the  town  of  Gravesend ;  and  we  may  be 
sure  she  did  not  pass  so  often  through  that  city  without 
some  idea  of  meeting  the  lover  she  had  used  so  ill,  and 
eliciting  an  apology  from  him.  Sly  puss  ! 
4 


60  A   SIMPLETON. 

When  she  had  walked  twenty  times,  or  thereabouts, 
through  the  town,  and  never  seen  him,  she  began  to  fear 
she  had  offended  liim  past  hope.  Then  she  used  to  cry 
at  the  end  of  every  walk. 

But  by  and  by  bodily  health,  vanity,  and  temper  com- 
bined to  rouse  the  defiant  spirit.  Said  she,  "If  he  really 
loved  me,  he  would  not  take  my  word  in  such  a  hurry. 
And  besides,  why  does  he  not  watch  me,  and  find  out 
what  I  am  doing,  and  where  I  walk  ?  " 

At  last  she  really  began  to  persuade  herself  that  she 
was  an  ill-used  and  slighted  girl.  She  was  very  angry  at 
times,  and  disconsolate  at  others ;  a  mixed  state  in  which 
hasty  and  impulsive  young  ladies  commit  lifelong  follies. 

Mr.  Lusignan  observed  the  surface  only :  he  saw  his 
invalid  daughter  getting  better  every  day,  till  at  last  she 
became  a  picture  of  health  and  bodily  vigor.  Eelieved 
of  his  fears,  he  troubled  his  head  but  little  about  Christo- 
pher Staines.  Yet  he  esteemed  him,  and  had  got  to  like 
him ;  but  Eosa  was  a  beauty,  and  could  do  better  than 
marry  a  struggling  physician,  however  able.  He  launched 
out  into  a  little  gayety,  resumed  his  quiet  dinner-parties ; 
and,  after  some  persuasion,  took  his  now  blooming 
daughter  to  a  ball  given  by  the  officers  of  Chatham. 

She  was  the  belle  of  the  ball  beyond  dispute,  and 
danced  with  ethereal  grace  and  athletic  endurance.  She 
was  madly  fond  of  waltzing,  and  here  she  encountered 
what  she  was  pleased  to  call  a  divine  dancer.  It  was  a 
Mr.  Keginald  Falcon,  a  gentleman  who  had  retired  to 
the  seaside  to  recruit  his  health  and  finances  sore  tried 
by  London  and  Paris.  Falcon  had  run  through  his  for- 
tune, but  had  acquired,  in  the  process,  certain  talents 
which,  as  they  cost  the  acquirer  dear,  so  they  sometimes 
repay  him,  especially  if  he  is  not  overburdened  with 
principle,  and  adopts  the  notion  that,  the  world  having 
plucked  him,  he  has  a  right  to  pluck  the  world.      He 


A   SIMPLETON.  51 

could  play  billiards  well,  but  never  so  well  as  when  back- 
ing himself  for  a  heavy  stake.  He  could  shoot  pigeons 
well,  and  his  shooting  improved  under  that  which  makes 
some  marksmen  miss  —  a  heavy  bet  against  the  gun. 
He  danced  to  perfection ;  and  being  a  well-bred,  experi- 
enced, brazen,  adroit  fellow,  who  knew  a  little  of  every- 
thing that  was  going,  he  had  always  plenty  to  say. 
Above  all,  he  had  made  a  particular  study  of  the  fair 
sex ;  had  met  with  many  successes,  many  rebuffs ;  and, 
at  last,  by  keen  study  of  their  minds,  and  a  habit  he  had 
acquired  of  watching  their  faces,  and  shifting  his  helm 
accordingly,  had  learned  the  great  art  of  pleasing  them. 
They  admired  his  face ;  to  me,  the  short  space  between 
his  eyes  and  his  hair,  his  aquiline  nose,  and  thin  straight 
lips,  suggested  the  bird  of  prey  a  little  too  much :  but  to 
fair  doves,  born  to  be  clutched,  this  similitude  perhaj)s 
was  not  very  alarming,  even  if  they  observed  it. 

Eosa  danced  several  times  with  him,  and  told  him  he 
danced  like  an  angel.  He  informed  her  that  was  because, 
for  once,  he  was  dancing  with  an  angel.  She  laughed 
and  blushed.  He  flattered  deliciously,  and  it  cost  him 
little ;  for  he  fell  in  love  with  her  that  night,  deeper 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  whole  life  of  intrigue.  He 
asked  leave  to  call  on  her :  she  looked  a  little  shy  at 
that,  and  did  not  respond.  He  instantly  withdrew  his 
proposal,  with  an  apology  and  a  sigh  that  raised  her 
pity.  However,  she  was  not  a  forward  girl,  even  Avhen 
excited  by  dancing  and  charmed  with  her  partner;  so 
she  left  him  to  find  his  own  way  out  of  that  difficulty. 

He  was  not  long  about  it.  At  the  end  of  the  next 
waltz  he  asked  her  if  he  might  venture  to  solicit  an 
introduction  to  her  father. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  she.  "  What  a  selfish  girl  I  am  ! 
this  is  terribly  dull  for  him." 

The  introduction  being  made,  and  Rosa  being  engaged 


52  A   SIMPLETON. 

for  the  next  three  dances,  Mr.  Falcon  sat  by  Mr.  Lusignan 
and  entertained  him.  For  this  little  piece  of  apparent 
self-denial  he  was  paid  in  various  coin :  Lusignan  found 
out  he  was  the  son  of  an  old  acquaintance,  and  so  the 
door  of  Kent  Villa  opened  to  him ;  meantime,  Rosa 
Lusignan  never  passed  him,  even  in  the  arms  of  a  cav- 
alry officer,  without  bestowing  a  glance  of  approval  and 
gratitude  on  him.  "  What  a  good-hearted  young  man  ! " 
thought  she.  "  How  kind  of  him  to  amuse  papa ;  and 
now  I  can  stay  so  much  longer." 

Falcon  followed  up  the  dance  by  a  call,  and  was  infi- 
nitely agreeable :  followed  up  the  call  by  another,  and 
admired  Eosa  with  so  little  disguise  that  Mr.  Lusignan 
said  to  her,  "  I  think  you  have  made  a  conquest.  His 
father  had  considerable  estates  in  Essex.  I  presume  he 
inherits  them." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  his  estates,"  said  Eosa,  "  he  dances 
like  an  angel,  and  gossips  charmingly,  and  is  so  nice." 

Christopher  Staines  pined  for  this  girl  in  silence :  his 
fine  frame  got  thinner,  his  pale  cheek  paler,  as  she  got 
rosier  and  rosier ;  and  how  ?  Why,  by  following  the 
very  advice  she  had  snubbed  him  for  giving  her.  At 
last,  he  heard  she  had  been  the  belle  of  a  ball,  and 
that  she  had  been  seen  walking  miles  from  home,  and 
blooming  as  a  Hebe.  Then  his  deep  anxiety  ceased,  his 
pride  stung  him  furiously ;  he  began  to  think  of  his  own 
value,  and  to  struggle  with  all  his  might  against  his 
deep  love.  Sometimes  he  would  even  inveigh  against 
her,  and  call  her  a  fickle,  ungrateful  girl,  capable  of  no 
strong  passion  but  vanity.  Many  a  hard  term  he  applied 
to  her  in  his  sorrowful  solitude ;  but  not  a  word  when 
he  had  a  hearer.  He  found  it  hard  to  rest:  he  kept 
dashing  up  to  London  and  back.  He  plunged  furiously 
into  study.  He  groaned  and  sighed,  and  fought  the 
hard  and  bitter  fight  that  is  too  often  the  lot  of  the  deep 


A   SEMPLETON.  53 

that  love  the  shallow.  Strong,  but  single-hearted,  no 
other  lady  could  comfort  him.  He  turned  from  female 
company,  and  shunned  all  for  the  fault  of  one. 

The  inward  contest  wore  him.  He  began  to  look  very 
thin  and  wan ;  and  all  for  a  Simpleton  ! 

Mr.  Falcon  prolonged  his  stay  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  drove  a  handsome  dogcart  over  twice  a  week  to  visit 
Mr.  Lusignan. 

He  used  to  call  on  that  gentleman  at  four  o'clock,  for 
at  that  hour  Mr.  Lusignan  was  always  out,  and  his 
daughter  always  at  home. 

She  was  at  home  at  that  hour  because  she  took  her 
long  walks  in  the  morning.  "V\Tiile  her  new  admirer 
Avas  in  bed,  or  dressing,  or  breakfasting,  she  was  spring- 
ing along  the  road  with  all  the  elasticity  of  youth,  and 
health,  and  native  vigor,  braced  by  daily  exercise. 

Twenty-one  of  these  walks  did  she  take,  with  no  other 
result  than  health  and  appetite ;  but  the  twenty-second 
was  more  fertile  — extremely  fertile.  Starting  later  than 
usual,  she  passed  through  Gravesend  while  Reginald 
Falcon  was  smoking  at  his  front  window.  He  saw  her, 
and  instantly  doffed  his  dressing-gown  and  donned  his 
coat  to  follow  her.  He  was  madly  in  love  with  her,  and 
being  a  man  who  had  learned  to  shoot  pigeons  and 
opportunities  flying,  he  instantly  resolved  to  join  hei 
in  her  walk,  get  her  clear  of  the  town,  by  the  sea-beach, 
where  beauty  melts,  and  propose  to  her.  Yes,  marriage 
had  not  been  hitherto  his  habit,  but  this  girl  was  peer- 
less :  he  was  pledged  by  honor  and  gratitude  to  Phoebe 
Dale ;  but  hang  all  that  now.  "  No  man  should  marry 
one  woman  when  he  loves  another ;  it  is  dishonorable." 
He  got  into  the  street  and  followed  her  as  fast  as  he 
could  without  running. 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  catch  her.  Ladies  are  not  built 
for  running ;  but  a  fine,  tall,  symmetrical  girl  who  has 


64  A   SIMPLETON. 

practised  walking  fast  can  cover  the  ground  wonderfully 
in  walking — if  she  chooses.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  how 
Rosa  Lusignan  squared  her  shoulders  and  stepped  out 
from  the  waist  like  a  Canadian  girl  skating,  while  her 
elastic  foot  slapped  the  pavement  as  she  spanked  along. 

She  had  nearly  cleared  the  town  before  Falcon  came 
up  with  her. 

He  was  hardly  ten  yards  from  her  when  an  unexpected 
incident  occurred.  She  whisked  round  the  corner  of 
Bird  Street,  and  ran  plump  against  Christopher  Staines  ; 
in  fact,  she  darted  into  his  arms,  and  her  face  almost 
touched  the  breast  she  had  wounded  so  deeply. 


A  SESIPLETON.  65 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Rosa  cried  "  Oli ! "  and  put  up  her  hands  to  her  face 
in  lovely  confusion,  coloring  like  a  peony. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Christopher,  stiffly,  but  in  a 
voice  that  trembled. 

"  No,"  said  Rosa,  "  it  was  I  ran  against  you.  I  walk 
so  fast  now.     Hope  I  did  not  hurt  you." 

"Hurt  me?" 

"  Well,  then,  frighten  you  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  quarrel  with  me  in  the  street^''  said 
Rosa,  cunningly  implying  that  he  was  the  quarrelsome 
one.  "  I  am  going  on  the  beach.  Good-by ! "  This 
adieu  she  uttered  softly,  and  in  a  hesitating  tone  that 
belied  it.  She  started  off,  however,  but  much  more 
slowly  than  she  was  going  before  ;  and,  as  she  went,  she 
turned  her  head  with  infinite  grace,  and  kept  looking 
askant  down  at  the  pavement  two  yards  behind  her : 
moreover  she  went  close  to  the  wall,  and  left  room  at 
her  side  for  another  to  walk. 

Christopher  hesitated  a  moment ;  but  the  mute  invita- 
tion, so  arch  yet  timid,  so  pretty,  tender,  sly,  and 
womanly,  was  too  much  for  him,  as  it  has  generally 
proved  for  males,  and  the  philosopher's  foot  was  soon  in 
the  very  place  to  which  the  Simpleton  with  the  mere  tail 
of  her  eye  directed  it. 

They  walked  along,  side  by  side,  in  silence,  Staines  agi- 
tated, gloomy,  confused,  Rosa  radiant  and  glowing,  yet 
not  knowing  what  to  say  for  herself,  and  wanting  Chris- 
topher to  begin.     So  they  walked  along  without  a  word. 


66  A  SIMPLETON. 

Falcon  followed  them  at  some  distance  to  see  whether 
it  was  an  admirer  or  only  an  acquaintance.  A  lover  he 
never  dreamed  of ;  she  had  shown  such  evident  pleasure 
in  his  company,  and  had  received  his  visits  alone  so 
constantly. 

However,  when  the  pair  had  got  to  the  beach,  and  were 
walking  slower  and  slower,  he  felt  a  pang  of  rage  and 
jealousy,  turned  on  his  heel  with  an  audible  curse,  and 
found  Phoebe  Dale  a  few  yards  behind  him  with  a  white 
face  and  a  peculiar  look.  He  knew  what  the  look 
meant;  he  had  brought  it  to  that  faithful  face  before 
to-day. 

"You  are  better.  Miss  Lusignan." 

"  Better,  Dr.  Staines  ?  I  am  health  itself,  thanks  to  — 
hem ! " 

"  Our  estrangement  has  agreed  with  you  ?  "  This  very 
bitterly. 

"  You  know  very  well  it  is  not  that.  Oh,  please  don't 
make  me  cry  in  the  streets." 

This  humble  petition,  or  rather  meek  threat,  led  to 
another  long  silence.  It  was  continued  till  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  shore.  But,  meantime,  Eosa's  furtive 
eyes  scanned  Christopher's  face,  and  her  conscience  smote 
her  at  the  signs  of  sufLcring.  She  felt  a  desire  to  beg 
his  pardon  with  deep  humility ;  but  she  suppressed  that 
weakness.  She  hung  her  head  with  a  pretty,  sheepish 
air,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  not  think  of  something 
agreeable  to  say  to  one  after  deserting  one  so  long. 

''  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Christopher,  bluntly.  "  I  have 
an  awkward  habit  of  speaking  the  truth;  and  some 
people  can't  bear  that,  not  even  when  it  is  spoken  for 
their  good." 

"That  depends  on  temper,  and  nerves,  and  things," 
said  Rosa,  deprecatingly ;  then  softly,  "I  could  bear 
anything  from  you  now." 


A  SIMPLETON".  57 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Christoplier,  grimly.  "  Well,  then,  I 
hear  you  had  no  sooner  got  rid  of  your  old  lover,  for 
loving  3'ou  too  well  and  telling  you  the  truth,  than  you 
took  up  another,  —  some  flimsy  man  of  fashion,  who 
will  tell  you  any  lie  you  like." 

"  It  is  a  story,  a  wicked  story,"  cried  Eosa,  thoroughly 
alarmed.  ^'  Me,  a  lover !  He  dances  like  an  angel ;  I 
can't  help  that." 

"  Are  his  visits  at  your  house  like  angels'  —  few  and 
far  between  ?  "  And  the  true  lover's  brow  lowered  black 
upon  her  for  the  first  time, 

Eosa  changed  color,  and  her  eyes  fell  a  moment. 
"  Ask  papa,"  she  said.  "  His  father  was  an  old  friend 
of  papa's."  • 

"  Eosa,  you  are  prevaricating.  Young  men  do  not  call 
on  old  gentlemen  when  there  is  an  attractive  young  lady 
in  the  house." 

The  argument  was  getting  too  close ;  so  Eosa  operated 
a  diversion.  "So,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden  air  of  lofty 
disdain,  swiftly  and  adroitly  assumed,  "you  have  had  me 
watched  ?  " 

"  Not  I ;  I  only  hear  what  people  say." 

"  Listen  to  gossip  and  not  have  me  watched  !  That 
shows  how  little  you  really  cared  for  me.  Well,  if 
you  had,  you  would  have  made  a  little  discovery,  that 
is  all."      '  ■ 

"  Should  I  ?  "  said  Christopher,  puzzled.     "  ^Vhat  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you.  Think  what  you  please.  Yes, 
sir,  you  would  have  found  out  that  I  take  long  walks 
every  day,  all  alone ;  and  what  is  more,  that  I  walk 
through  Gravesend,  hoping  —  like  a  goose — that  some- 
body really  loved  me,  and  would  meet  me,  and  beg  my 
pardon ;  and  if  he  had,  I  should  have  told  him  it  was 
only  my  tongue,  and  my  nerves,  and  things  ;  my  heart 
was  his,  and  my  gratitude.     And  after  all,  what  do  words 


68  A  SIMPLETON. 

signify,  when  I  am  a  good,  obedient  girl  at  bottom  ?  So 
that  is  what  you  have  lost  by  not  condescending  to  look 
after  me.     Fine  love  !  —  Christoj)her,  beg  my  pardon." 

"May  I  inquire  for  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  for  not  understanding  me ;  for  not  knowing 
that  I  should  be  sorry  the  moment  you  were  gone.  I 
took  them  oil  the  very  next  day,  to  please  you." 

"  Took  off  whom  ?  —  Oh,  I  understand.  You  did  ? 
Then  you  are  a  good  girl." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  ?  A  good,  obedient  girl,  and 
anything  but  a  flirt." 

"I  don't  say  that." 

"But  I  do.  Don't  interrupt.  It  is  to  your  good 
advice  J  owe  my  health ;  and  to  love  anybody  but  you, 
when  I  owe  you  my  love  and  my  life,  I  must  be  a  heart- 
less, ungrateful,  worthless  —  Oh,  Christopher,  forgive 
me !     No,  no ;  I  mean,  beg  my  pardon." 

"I'll  do  both,"  said  Christoijher,  taking  her  in  his 
arms.     "I  beg  your  pardon,  and  I  forgive  you." 

Rosa  leaned  her  head  tenderly  on  his  shoulder,  and 
began  to  sigh.  "  Oh,  dear,  dear !  I  am  a  wicked,  foolish 
girl,  not  fit  to  walk  alone." 

On  this  admission,  Christopher  spoke  out,  and  urged 
her  to  put  an  end  to  all  these  unhappy  misunderstandings, 
and  to  his  new  torment,  jealousy,  by  marrying  him. 

"  And  so  I  would  this  very  minute,  if  papa  would  con- 
sent. But,"  said  she,  slyly,  "  you  never  can  be  so  foolish 
to  wish  it.  What!  a  wise  man  like  you  marry  a 
simpleton ! " 

"  Did  I  ever  call  you  that  ? "  asked  Christopher, 
reproachfully. 

"  No,  dear ;  but  you  are  the  only  one  who  has  not ;  and 
perhaps  I  should  lose  even  the  one,  if  you  were  to  marry 
me.  Oh,  husbands  are  not  so  polite  as  lovers !  I  have 
observed  that,  simpleton  or  not." 


A   SIMPLETON.  59 

Christopher  assured  her  that  he  took  quite  a  different 
view  of  her  character ;  he  believed  her  to  be  too  profound 
for  shallow  people  to  read  all  in  a  moment :  he  even 
intimated  that  he  himself  had  experienced  no  little  diffi- 
culty in  understanding  her  at  odd  times.  "  And  so,"  said 
he,  "they  turn  round  upon  you,  and  instead  of  saying, 
'  We  are  too  shallow  to  fathom  you,'  they  pretend  you 
are  a  simpleton." 

This  solution  of  the  mystery  had  never  occurred  to 
Rosa,  nor  indeed  was  it  likely  to  occur  to  any  creature 
less  ingenious  than  a  lover :  it  pleased  her  hugely ;  her 
fine  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  nestled  closer  still  to  the 
strong  arm  that  was  to  parry  every  ill,  from  mortal 
disease  to  galling  epithets. 

She  listened  with  a  willing  ear  to  all  his  reasons,  his 
hopes,  his  fears,  and,  when  they  reached  her  father's 
door,  it  was  settled  that  he  should  dine  there  that  day, 
and  urge  his  suit  to  her  father  after  dinner.  She  would 
implore  the  old  gentleman  to  listen  to  it  favorably. 

The  lovers  parted,  and  Christopher  went  home  like 
one  who  has  awakened  from  a  hideous  dream  to  daylight 
and  happiness. 

He  had  not  gone  far  before  he  met  a  dashing  dogcart, 
driven  by  an  exquisite.  He  turned  to  look  after  it,  and 
saw  it  drive  up  to  Kent  Villa. 

In  a  moment  he  divined  his  rival,  and  a  sickness  of 
heart  came  over  him.  But  he  recovered  himself  directly, 
and  said,  "  If  tlia.t  is  the  fellow,  she  will  not  receive  him 
now." 

She  did  receive  him  though :  at  all  events,  the 
dogcart  stood  at  the  door,  and  its  master  remained 
inside. 

Christopher  stood,  and  counted  the  minutes  :  five,  ten, 
fifteen,  twenty  minutes,  and  still  the  dogcart  stood  there. 

It  was  more  than  he  could  bear.     He  turned  savagely, 


60  A  SIMPLETON. 

and  strode  back  to  Gravesend,  resolving  that  all  tliis 
torture  should  end  that  night,  one  way  or  other. 

Phoebe  Dale  was  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  in  Essex, 
and  one  of  the  happiest  young  women  in  England  till 
she  knew  Reginald  Ealcon,  Esq. 

She  was  reared  on  wholesome  food,  in  wholesome  air, 
and  used  to  churn  butter,  make  bread,  cook  a  bit  now 
and  then,  cut  out  and  sew  all  her  own  dresses,  get  up  hei 
own  linen,  make  hay,  ride  anything  on  four  legs ;  and, 
for  all  that,  was  a  great  reader,  and  taught  in  the  Sunday 
school  to  oblige  the  vicar ;  wrote  a  neat  hand,  and  was  a 
good  arithmetician,  kept  all  the  house  accounts  and  farm 
accounts.  She  was  a  musician,  too,  —  not  profound,  but 
very  correct.  She  would  take  her  turn  at  the  harmonium 
in  church,  and,  when  she  was  there,  you  never  heard  a 
wrong  note  in  the  bass,  nor  an  inappropriate  flourish, 
nor  bad  time.  She  could  sing,  too,  but  never  would, 
except  her  part  in  a  psalm.  Her  voice  was  a  deep  con- 
tralto, and  she  chose  to  be  ashamed  of  this  heavenly 
organ,  because  a  pack  of  envious  girls  had  giggled,  and 
said  it  was  like  a  man's. 

In  short,  her  natural  ability  and  the  range  and  variety 
of  her  useful  accomplishments  were  considerable;  not 
that  she  was  a  prodigy  ;  but  she  belonged  to  a  small  class 
of  women  in  this  island  who  are  not  too  high  to  use  their 
arms,  nor  too  low  to  cultivate  their  minds  ;  and,  having 
a  faculty  and  a  habit  deplorably  rare  amongst  her  sex, 
viz..  Attention,  she  had  profited  by  her  miscellaneous 
advantages. 

Her  figure  and  face  both  told  her  breed  at  once :  here 
was  an  old  English  pastoral  beauty ;  not  the  round-backed, 
narrow-chested  cottager,  but  the  well-fed,  erect  rustic, 
with  broad,  full  bust  and  massive  shoulder,  and  arm  as 
hard  as  a  rock  with  health  and  constant  use;  a  hand 


"  6U    IT    IS    A    LAUV    THIS    TIME.'' 


A  SESIPLETON.  61 

finely  cut,  though  neither  small  nor  very  white,  and  jvist 
a  little  hard  inside,  compared  with  Luxury's  soft  palm  ; 
a  face  honest,  fair,  and  rather  large  than  small;  not 
beautiful,  but  exceedingly  comely ;  a  complexion  not 
pink  and  white,  but  that  delicately  blended  brickdusty 
color,  which  tints  the  whole  cheek  in  fine  gradation,  out- 
lasts other  complexions  twenty  years,  and  beautifies  the 
true  Northern,  even  in  old  age.  Gray,  limpid,  honest, 
point-blank,  searching  eyes  ;  hair  true  nut-brown,  with- 
out a  shade  of  red  or  black ;  and  a  high,  smooth  forehead, 
full  of  sense.  Across  it  ran  one  deep  wrinkle  that  did 
not  belong  to  her  youth.  That  wrinkle  was  the  brand  of 
trouble,  the  line  of  agony.  It  had  come  of  loving  above 
her,  yet  below  her,  and  of  loving  an  egotist. 

Three  years  before  our  tale  commenced,  a  gentleman's 
horse  ran  away  with  him,  and  threw  him  on  a  heap  of 
stones  by  the  roadside,  not  very  far  from  Farmer  Dale's 
gate.  The  farmer  had  him  taken  in.  The  doctor  said 
he  must  not  be  moved.  He  was  insensible ;  his  cheek 
like  delicate  wax ;  his  fair  hair  like  silk  stained  with 
blood.  He  became  Phoebe's  patient,  and,  in  due  course, 
her  convalescent :  his  pale,  handsome  face  and  fasci- 
nating manners  gained  one  charm  more  from  weakness ; 
his  vices  were  in  abeyance. 

The  womanly  nurse's  heart  yearned  over  her  child; 
for  he  was  feeble  as  a  child;  and,  when  he  got  well 
enough  to  amuse  his  weary  hours  by  making  love  to  her, 
and  telling  her  a  pack  of  arrant  lies,  she  was  a  ready 
dupe.  He  was  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  ever  his  old 
uncle  died,  and  left  him  the  means,  etc.,  etc.  At  last  he 
got  well  enough  to  leave  her,  and  went  away,  her  open 
admirer  and  secret  lover.  He  borrowed  twenty  pounds 
of  her  the  day  he  left. 

He  used  to  write  her  charming  letters,  and  feed  the 
flame  ;  but  one  day  her  father  sent  her  up  to  London,  on 


62  A  SIMPLETON. 

his  own  business,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  she  called  on  Mr. 
Falcon  at  his  real  address.  She  found  he  did  not  live 
there  —  only  received  letters.  However,  half-a-crown 
soon  bought  his  real  address,  and  thither  Phoebe  pro- 
ceeded with  a  troubled  heart,  for  she  suspected  that  her 
true  lover  was  in  debt  or  trouble,  and  obliged  to  hide. 
Well,  he  must  be  got  out  of  it,  and  hide  at  the  farm 
meantime. 

So  the  loving  girl  knocked  at  the  door,  asked  for  Mr. 
Falcon,  and  was  shown  in  to  a  lady  rather  showily  dressed, 
who  asked  her  business. 

Phoebe  Dale  stared  at  her,  and  then  turned  pale  as 
ashes.    She  was  paralyzed,  and  could  not  find  her  tongue. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  now  ? "  said  the  other, 
sharply. 

"Are  you  married  to  E-eginald  Falcon  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am.     Look  at  my  wedding-ring." 

"Then  I  am  not  wanted  here,"  faltered  Phoebe,  ready 
to  sink  on  the  floor. 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  are  one  of  the  bygones,"  said 
the  woman,  coarsely  ;  and  Phoebe  Dale  waited  to  hear  no 
more,  but  found  her  way,  Heaven  knows  how,  into  the 
street,  and  there  leaned,  half-fainting,  on  a  rail,  till  a 
policeman  came,  and  told  her  she  had  been  drinking, 
and  suggested  a  cool  cell  as  the  best  cure. 

"  Not  drink ;  only  a  breaking  heart,"  said  she,  in  her 
low,  mellow  voice  that  few  could  resist. 

He  got  her  a  glass  of  water,  drove  away  the  boys  that 
congregated  directly,  and  she  left  the  street.  But  she 
soon  came  back  again,  and  waited-  about  for  Reginald 
Falcon. 

It  was  night  when  he  appeared.  She  seized  him  by 
the  breast,  and  taxed  him  with  his  villany. 

What  with  her  iron  grasp,  pale  face,  and  flashing  eyes, 
he  lost  his  cool  impudence,  and  blurted  out  excuses.    It 


A   SIMPLETON.  63 

was  an  old  and  unfortunate  connection ;  he  would  give 
the  world  to  dissolve  it,  if  he  could  do  it  like  a  gentleman. 

Phcebe  told  him  to  please  himself :  he  must  part  with 
one  or  the  other. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  this  man  of  brass  ;  "  I'll 
un-Falcon  her  on  the  spot." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I  am  going  home ;  and, 
if  you  are  not  there  by  to-morrow  at  noon  "  —  She  said 
no  more,  but  looked  a  great  deal.  Then  she  departed, 
and  refused  him  her  hand  at  parting.  "  We  will  see 
about  that  by  and  by,"  said  she. 

At  noon  my  lord  came  down  to  the  farm,  and,  unfor- 
tunately for  Phoebe,  played  the  penitent  so  skilfully  for 
about  a  month,  that  she  forgave  him,  and  loved  him  all 
the  more  for  having  so  nearly  parted  with  him. 

Her  peace  was  not  to  endure  long.  He  was  detected 
in  an  intrigue  in  the  very  village. 

The  insult  struck  so  home  that  Phoebe  herself,  to  her 
parents'  satisfaction,  ordered  him  out  of  the  house  at 
once. 

But,  when  he  was  gone,  she  had  fits  of  weeping,  and 
could  settle  to  nothing  for  a  long  time. 

Months  had  elapsed,  and  she  was  getting  a  sort  of  dull 
tranquillity,  when,  one  evening,  taking  a  walk  she  had 
often  with  him,  and  mourning  her  solitude  and  wasted 
affection,  he  waylaid  her,  and  clung  to  her  knees,  and 
shed  crocodile  tears  on  her  hands,  and,  after  a  long 
resistance,  violent  at  first,  but  fainter  and  fainter,  got 
her  in  his  power  again,  and  that  so  completely  that  she 
met  him  several  times  by  night,  being  ashamed  to  be 
seen  with  him  in  those  parts  by  day. 

This  ended  in  fresh  promises  of  marriage,  and  in  a 
constant  correspondence  by  letter.  This  pest  knew 
exactly  how  to  talk  to  a  woman,  and  how  to  write  to  one. 
His  letters  fed  the  unhappy  flame ;  and,  mind  you,  he 


64  A  SIMPLETON. 

sometimes  deceived  himself,  and  thought  he  loved  her ; 
but  it  was  only  himself  he  loved.  She  was  an  invaluable 
lover ;  a  faithful,  disinterested  friend ;  hers  was  a  vile 
bargain ;  his,  an  excellent  one,  and  he  clung  to  it. 

And  so  they  went  on.  She  detected  him  in  another 
infidelity,  and  reproached  him  bitterly  ;  but  she  had  no 
longer  the  strength  to  break  with  him.  Nevertheless, 
this  time  she  had  the  sense  to  make  a  struggle.  She 
implored  him,  on  her  very  knees,  to  show  her  a  little 
mercy  in  return  for  all  her  love.  "  For  pity's  sake,  leave 
me  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  are  strong,  and  I  am  weak.  You 
can  end  it  forever,  and  pray  do.  You  don't  want  me ; 
you  don't  value  me :  then,  leave  me,  once  and  for  all, 
and  end  this  hell  you  keep  me  in." 

No;  he  could  not,  or  he  would  not,  leave  her  alone. 
Look  at  a  bird's  wings  !  —  how  like  an  angel's  !  Yet  so 
vile  a  thing  as  a  bit  of  birdlime  subdues  them  utterly ; 
and  such  was  the  fascinating  power  of  this  mean  man 
over  this  Avorthy  woman.  She  was  a  reader,  a  thinker, 
a  model  of  respectability,  industry,  and  sense ;  a  business- 
woman, keen  and  practical ;  could  encounter  sharp  hands 
in  sharp  trades ;  could  buy  or  sell  hogs,  calves,  or  beasts 
with  any  farmer  or  butcher  in  the  country,  yet  no  match 
for  a  cunning  fool.  She  had  enshrined  an  idol  in  her 
heart,  and  that  heart  adored  it,  and  clung  to  it,  though 
the  superior  head  saw  through  it,  dreaded  it,  despised  it. 

No  wonder  three  years  of  this  had  drawn  a  tell-tale 
wrinkle  across  the  polished  brow. 

Phoebe  Dale  had  not  received  a  letter  for  some  days ; 
that  roused  her  suspicion  and  stung  her  jealousy ;  she 
came  up  to  London  by  fast  train,  and  down  to  Gravesend 
directly. 

She  had  a  thick  veil  that  concealed  her  features ;  and 
with  a  little  inquiring  and  bribing,  she  soon  found  out 


A   SIMPLETON.  65 

that  Mr.  Falcon  was  there  with  a  showy  dogcart.  "Ah!" 
thought  Phoebe,  "  he  has  won  a  little  money  at  play  or 
pigeon-shooting ;  so  now  he  has  no  need  of  me." 

She  took  the  lodgings  opposite  him,  but  observed 
nothing  till  this  very  morning,  when  she  saw  him  throw 
off  his  dressing-goAvn  all  in  a  hurry  and  fling  on  his  coat. 
She  tied  on  her  bonnet  as  rapidly,  and  followed  him, 
until  she  discovered  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  It  was  a 
surprise  to  her,  and  a  puzzle,  to  see  another  man  step  in, 
as  if  to  take  her  part.  But  as  Reginald  still  followed  the 
loitering  pair,  she  followed  Reginald,  till  he  turned  and 
found  her  at  his  heels,  white  and  lowering. 

She  confronted  him  in  threatening  silence  for  some 
time,  during  which  he  prepared  his  defence. 

"  So  it  is  a  ladtj  this  time,"  said  she,  in  her  low,  r'lch 
voice,  sternly. 

"  Is  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  I  should  say  she  is  bespoke — that  tall,  fine- 
built  gentleman.  But  I  suppose  you  care  no  more  for 
his  feelings  than  you  do  for  mine." 

"  Phoebe,"  said  the  egotist,  "  I  will  not  try  to  deceive 
you.     You  have  often  said  you  are  my  true  friend." 

"  And  I  think  I  have  proved  it." 

"  That  you  have.  Well,  then,  be  my  true  friend  now. 
I  am  in  love  —  really  in  love  —  this  time.  You  and  I 
only  torment  each  other ;  let  us  part  friends.  There  are 
plenty  of  farmers  in  Essex  that  would  jump  at  you.  As 
for  me,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth ;  I  have  run  through  every 
farthing;  my  estate  mortgaged  beyond  its  value — two  or 
three  writs  out  against  me  —  that  is  why  I  slipped  doAvn 
here.  My  only  chance  is  to  marry  ]\Ioney.  Her  father 
knows  I  have  land,  and  he  knows  nothing  about  the 
mortgages ;  she  is  his  only  daughter.  Don't  stand  in 
my  way,  that  is  a  good  girl ;  be  my  friend,  as  you  always 
were.     Hang  it  all,  Phoebe,  can't  you  say  a  word  to  a 


66  A   SIMPLETON. 

fellow  that  is  driven  into  a  corner,  instead  of  glaring  at 
me  like  that  ?  There !  I  know  it  is  ungrateful ;  but  what 
can  a  fellow  do  ?  I  must  live  like  a  gentleman  or  else 
take  a  dose  of  prussic  acid;  you  don't  want  to  drive  me 
to  that.    Why,  you  proposed  to  part,  last  time,  yourself." 

She  gave  him  one  majestic,  indescribable  look,  that 
made  even  his  callous  heart  quiver,  and  turned  away. 

Then  the  scamp  admired  her  for  despising  him,  and 
could  not  bear  to  lose  her.  He  followed  her,  and  put 
forth  all  those  powers  of  persuading  and  soothing,  which 
had  so  often  proved  irresistible.  But  this  time  it  was  in 
vain.  The  insult  was  too  savage,  and  his  egotism  too 
brutal,  for  honeyed  phrases  to  blind  her. 

After  enduring  it  a  long  time  with  a  silent  shudder, 
she  turned  and  shook  him  fiercely  off  her  like  some 
poisonous  reptile. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  kill  you  ?  I'd  liever  kill  myself 
for  loving  such  a  thing  as  thou.  Go  thy  ways,  man,  and 
let  me  go  mine."  In  her  passion  she  dropjjed  her  culti- 
vation for  once,  and  went  back  to  the  thou  and  thee  of 
her  grandam. 

He  colored  up  and  looked  spiteful  enough ;  but  he  soon 
recovered  his  cynical  egotism,  and  went  off  whistling  an 
operatic  passage. 

She  crept  to  her  lodgings,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
pillow,  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  for  hours  in  the 
bitterest  agony  the  heart  can  feel,  groaning  over  her 
great  affection  wasted,  flung  into  the  dirt. 

While  she  was  thus,  she  heard  a  little  commotion. 
She  came  to  the  window  and  saw  Falcon,  exquisitely 
dressed,  drive  off  in  his  dogcart,  attended  by  the  accla- 
mations of  eight  boys.  She  saw  at  a  glance  he  was  gone 
courting;  her  knees  gave  way  under  her,  and,  such  is 
the  power  of  the  mind,  this  stalwart  girl  lay  weak  as 
water  on  the  sofa,  and  had  not  the  power  to  go  home, 


A  SIMPLETON.  67 

though  just  then  she  had  but  one  wish,  one  hope  —  to 
see  her  idol's  face  no  more,  nor  hear  his  wheedling 
tongue,  that  had  ruined  her  peace. 

The  exquisite  Mr.  Falcon  was  received  by  Rosa  Lusi- 
gnan  with  a  certain  tremor  that  flattered  his  hopes.  He 
told  her,  in  charming  language,  how  he  had  admired  her 
at  first  sight,  then  esteemed  her,  then  loved  her. 

She  blushed  and  panted,  and  showed  more  than  once  a 
desire  to  interrupt  him,  but  was  too  polite.  She  heard 
him  out  with  rising  dismay,  and  he  offered  her  his  hand 
and  heart. 

But  by  this  time  she  had  made  up  her  mind  what  to 
say.  "  0  Mr.  Falcon ! "  she  cried,  "  how  can  you  speak 
to  me  in  this  way  ?  Why,  I  am  engaged.  Didn't  j'ou 
know  ?  " 

*'  No ;  I  am  sure  you  are  not,  or  you  would  never  have 
given  me  the  encouragement  you  have." 

"  Oh,  all  engaged  young  ladies  flirt  —  a  little ;  and 
everybody  here  knows  I  am  engaged  to  Dr.  Staines." 

"  Why,  I  never  saw* him  here." 

Rosa's  tact  was  a  quality  that  came  and  went ;  so  she 
blushed,  and  faltered  out,  "We  had  a  little  tiff,  as  lovers 
will." 

"  And  you  did  me  the  honor  to  select  me  as  cat's-paw 
to  bring  him  on  again.     Was  not  that  rather  heartless  ?  " 

Rosa's  fitful  tact  returned  to  her. 

''  Oh,  sir,  do  not  think  so  ill  of  me.  I  am  not  heartless, 
I  am  only  unwise ;  and  you  are  so  superior  to  the  people 
about  you;  I  could  not  help  appreciating  you,  and  I 
thought  you  knew  I  was  engaged,  and  so  I  was  less  on 
my  guard.  I  hope  I  shall  not  lose  your  esteem,  though 
I  have  no  right  to  anything  more.  Ah !  I  see  by  your 
face  I  have  behaved  very  ill :  pray  forgive  me." 

And  with  this  she  turned  on  the  waters  of  the  Nile, 
better  known  to  you,  perhaps,  as  "  crocodile  tears." 


68  A  SIMPLETON. 

Falcon  was  a  gentleman  on  the  surface,  and  knew 
he  should  only  make  matters  worse  by  quarrelling  with 
her.  So  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  said,  "  May  your  own 
heart  never  feel  the  pangs  you  have  inflicted.  I  shall 
love  you  and  remember  you  till  my  dying  day." 

He  bowed  ceremoniously  and  left  her. 

"  Ay,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  will  remember  you,  you 
heartless  jilt,  and  the  man  you  have  jilted  me  for. 
Staines  is  his  d d  name,  is  it  ?  " 

He  drove  back  crestfallen,  bitter,  and,  for  once  in  his 
life,  heart-sick,  and  drew  up  at  his  lodgings.  Here  he 
found  attendants  waiting  to  receive  him. 

A  sheriff's  ofiicer  took  his  dogcart  and  horse  under  a 
judgment;  the  disturbance  this  caused  collected  a  tiny 
crowd,  gaping  and  grinning,  and  brought  Phoebe's  white 
face  and  eyes  swollen  with  weeping  to  the  window. 

Falcon  saw  her  and  brazened  it  out.  "Take  them," 
said  he,  with  an  oath.  "  I'll  have  a  better  turn-out  by 
to-morrov^,  breakfast-time." 

The  crowd  cheered  him  for  his  spirit. 

He  got  down,  lit  a  cigar,  chaffed  the  officer  and  the 
crowd,  and  was,  on  the  whole,  admired. 

Then  another  officer,  who  had  been  hunting  him  in 
couples  with  the  other,  stepped  forward  and  took  hivi, 
for  the  balance  of  a  judgment  debt. 

Then  the  swell's  cigar  fell  out  of  his  mouth,  and  he 
was  seriously  alarmed.  "Why,  Cartwright,"  said  he, 
"this  is  too  bad.  You  promised  not  to  see  me  this 
month.     You  passed  me  full  in  the  Strand." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  said  Cartwright,  with  sullen 
irony.  "  I've  got  a  twin-brother ;  a  many  takes  him  for 
me,  till  they  finds  the  difference."  Then,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  Wliat  call  had  you  to  boast  in  your  club  you  had 
made  it  right  with  Bill  Cartwright,  and  he'd  never  see 
you  ?    That  got  about,  and  so  I  was  bound  to  see  you  or 


A  SIMPLETON.  69 

lose  my  bread.  There's  one  or  two  I  don't  see,  but  then 
they  are  real  gentlemen,  and  thinks  of  me  as  Avell  as 
theirselves,  and  doesn't  blab." 

"  I  must  have  been  drunk,"  said  Falcon  apologetically. 

"  More  likely  blowing  a  cloud.  When  you  young  gents 
gets  a-smoking  together,  you'd  tell  on  your  own  mothers. 
Come  along,  colonel,  off  we  go  to  Merrimashee." 

"  Why,  it  is  only  twenty-six  pounds.  I  have  paid  the 
rest." 

'•  More  than  that ;  there's  the  costs." 

'•'  Come  in,  and  I'll  settle  it." 

"  All  right,  sir.     Jem,  watch  the  back." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  try  that  game  with  a  sharp  hand  like 
you,  Cartwright." 

"You  had  better  not,  sir,"  said  Cartwright;  but  he 
was  softened  a  little  by  the  compliment. 

When  they  were  alone,  Falcon  began  by  saying  it  was 
a  bad  job  for  him. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  was  a-going  to  pay  it  all  in  a 
moment." 

"  I  can't ;  but  I  have  got  a  friend  over  the  way  that 
could,  if  she  chose.  She  has  always  got  money,  some- 
how." 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  a  she,  it  is  all  right." 

"I  don't  know.  She  has  quarrelled  with  me;  but 
give  me  a  little  time.  Here  !  have  a  glass  of  sherry 
and  a  biscuit,  while  I  try  it  on." 

Having  thus  muffled  Cartwright,  this  man  of  the  world 
opened  his  window  and  looked  out.  The  crowd  had 
followed  the  captured  dogcart,  so  he  had  the  street  to 
himself.  He  beckoned  to  Phoebe,  and  after  considerable 
hesitation  she  opened  her  window. 

"  Phoebe,"  said  he,  in  tones  of  tender  regret,  admirably 
natural  and  sweet,  "  I  shall  never  offend  you  again ;  so 
forgive  me  this  once.     I  have  given  that  girl  up." 


70  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Not  you,"  said  Phoebe,  sullenly. 

"  Indeed  I  have.  After  our  quarrel,  I  started  to  pro- 
pose to  her ;  but  I  had  not  the  heart ;  I  came  back  and 
left  her." 

"Time  will  show.  If  it  is  not  her,  it  will  be  some 
other,  you  false,  heartless  villain." 

"  Come,  I  say,  don't  be  so  hard  on  me  in  trouble.  I 
am  going  to  jorison." 

"  So  I  suppose." 

"  Ah !  but  it  is  Avorse  than  you  think.  I  am  only  taken 
for  a  paltry  thirty  pounds  or  so." 

"  Thirty -three,  fifteen,  five,"  suggested  Cartwright,  in 
a  muffled  whisper,  his  mouth  being  full  of  biscuit. 

"  But  once  they  get  me  to  a  sponging-house,  detainers 
will  pour  in,  and  my  cruel  creditors  will  confine  me  for 
life." 

"  It  is  the  best  place  for  you.  It  will  put  a  stop  to 
your  wickedness,  and  I  shall  be  at  peace.  That's  what 
I  have  never  known,  night  or  day,  this  three  years." 

"  But  you  will  not  be  happy  if  you  see  me  go  to  prison 
before  your  eyes.  Were  you  ever  inside  a  prison  ? 
Just  think  what  it  must  be  to  be  cooped  up  in  those  cold 
grim  cells  all  alone ;  for  they  use  a  debtor  like  a  criminal 
now." 

Phoebe  shuddered ;  but  she  said,  bravely,  "  Well,  tell 
them  you  have  been  a-courting.  There  was  a  time  I'd 
have  died  sooner  than  see  a  hair  of  your  head  hurt ;  but 
it  is  all  over  now ;  you  have  worn  me  out." 

Then  she  began  to  cry. 

Falcon  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "It  is  no  more  than  I 
deserve,"  said  he.  "  I'll  pack  up  my  things,  and  go  with 
the  officer.  Give  me  one  kind  word  at  parting,  and  I'll 
think  of  it  in  my  prison,  night  and  day." 

He  withdrew  from  the  window  with  another  deep 
sigh,  told  Cartwright,  cheerfully,  it  was  all  right,  and 
proceeded  to  pack  up  his  traps. 


A   SEVIPLETON.  71 

Meantime  Phoebe  sat  at  her  window  and  cried  bitterly. 
Her  words  had  been  braver  than  her  heart. 

Falcon  managed  to  pay  the  trifle  he  owed  for  the 
lodgings,  and  presently  he  came  out  with  Cartwright, 
and  the  attendant  called  a  cab.  His  things  were  thrown 
in,  and  Cartwright  invited  him  to  follow.  Then  he 
looked  up,  and  cast  a  genuine  look  of  terror  and  misery 
at  Phoebe.  He  thought  she  would  have  relented  before 
this. 

Her  heart  gave  way  ;  I  am  afraid  it  would,  even  with- 
out that  piteous  and  mute  appeal.  She  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  asked  Mr.  Cartwright  if  he  would  be  good 
enough  to  come  and  speak  to  her. 

Cartwright  committed  his  prisoner  to  the  subordinate, 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  Phoebe's  lodgings.  She 
came  down  herself  and  let  him  in.  She  led  the  Avay 
upstairs,  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  sat  down  by  him,  and 
began  to  cry  again.     She  was  thoroughly  unstrung. 

Cartwright  was  human,  and  muttered  some  words  of 
regret  that  a  poor  fellow  must  do  his  duty. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  that,"  sobbed  Phoebe.  "  I  can  find  the 
money.  I  have  found  more  for  him  than  that,  many's 
the  time."  Then,  drying  her  eyes,  ''But  you  must  know 
the  world,  and  I  dare  say  you  can  see  how  'tis  with  me." 

''  I  can,"  said  Cartwright,  gravely,  "  I  overheard  you 
and  him ;  and,  my  girl,  if  you  take  my  advice,  why,  let 
him  go.  He  is  a  gentleman  skin  deep,  and  dresses  well, 
and  can  palaver  a  girl,  no  doubt ;  but  bless  your  heart, 
I  can  see  at  a  glance  he  is  not  worth  your  little  finger, 
an  honest,  decent  young  woman  like  you.  Why,  it  is 
like  "butter  fighting  with  stone.  Let  him  go ;  or  I  will 
tell  you  what  it  is,  you  will  hang  for  him  some  day,  or 
else  make  away  with  yourself." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Phoebe,  "  that's  likelier ;  and  if  I  was 
to  let  him  go  to  prison,  I  should  sit  me  down  and  think 


72  A   SIMPLETON. 

of  his  parting  look,  and  I  should  fling  myself  into  the 
water  for  him  before  I  was  a  day  older." 

"Ye  mustn't  do  that  anyway.  While  there's  life 
there's  hope." 

Upon  this  Phoebe  put  him  a  question,  and  found  hirn 
ready  to  do  anything  for  her,  in  reason  —  provided  he 
was  paid  for  it.  And  the  end  of  it  all  was,  the  prisoner 
was  conveyed  to  London ;  Phoebe  got  the  requisite  sum  ; 
Falcon  was  deposited  in  a  third-class  carriage  bound  for 
Essex.  Phoebe  paid  his  debt,  and  gave  Cartwright  a 
present,  and  away  rattled  the  train  conveying  the  hand- 
some egotist  into  temporary  retirement,  to  wit,  at  a 
village  five  miles  from  the  Dales'  farm.  She  was  too 
ashamed  of  her  young  gentleman  and  herself  to  be  seen 
with  him  in  her  native  village.  On  the  road  down  he 
was  full  of  little  practical  attentions ;  she  received  them 
coldly ;  his  mellifluous  mouth  was  often  at  her  ear,  pour- 
ing thanks  and  praises  into  it ;  she  never  vouchsafed  a 
word  of  reply.  All  she  did  was  to  shudder  now  and 
then,  and  cry  at  intervals.  Yet,  whenever  he  left  her 
side,  her  whole  body  became  restless ;  and  when  he  came 
back  to  her,  a  furtive  thrill  announced  the  insane  com- 
placency his  bare  contact  gave  her.  Surely,  of  all  the 
forms  in  which  love  torments  the  heart,  this  was  the 
most  terrible  and  pitiable. 

Mr.  Lusignan  found  his  daughter  in  tears. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  now  ? "  said  he,  a  little 
peevishly.  "  We  have  had  nothing  of  this  sort  of  thing 
lately." 

"Papa,  it  is  because  I  have  misconducted  myself.  I 
am  a  foolish,  imprudent  girl.  I  have  been  flirting  with 
Mr.  Falcon,  and  he  has  taken  a  cruel  advantage  of  it  — 
proposed  to  me  —  this  very  a;^ternoon  —  actually ! " 

"  Has  he  ?    Well,  he  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  has  a  landed 


A  SnVIPLETOlT.  73 

estate  in  Norfolk.  There's  nothing  like  land.  They 
may  well  call  it  real  property  —  there  is  something  to 
show ;  you  can  walk  on  it,  and  ride  on  it,  and  look  out 
of  window  at  it :  that  is  property." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  what  are  you  saj'ing  ?     "Would  j^ou  have 
me  marry  one  man  when  I  belong  to  another  ?  " 
"  But  you  don't  belong  to  any  one  except  to  me." 
"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  do.     I  belong  to  my  dear  Christopher." 
"  AVliy,  you  dismissed  him  before  my  very  eyes ;  and 
very  ill  you  behaved,  begging  your  pardon.     The  man 
was  your  able  physician  and  your  best  friend,  and  said 
nothing  that  was  not  for  your  good;   and  you   treated 
him  like  a  dog." 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  apologized." 
"  What  for  ?  being  treated  like  a  dog  ?  " 
"  Oh,   don't   say   so,   papa !      At   all   events,   he   has 
apologized,  as   a   gentleman   should  whenever  —  when- 
ever "  — 

"  Whenever  a  lady  is  in  the  wrong." 
"  Don't,  papa ;  and  I  have  asked  him  to  dinner." 
"  With  all  my  heart.     I  shall  be  downright  glad  to  see 
him  again.     You  used  him  abominably." 

"  But  you  need  not  keep  saying  so,"  whined  Rosa. 
"  And  that  is  not  all,  dear  papa ;  the  worst  of  it  is,  Mr. 
Falcon  proposing  to  me  has  opened  my  eyes.  I  am  not 
fit  to  be  trusted  alone.  I  am  too  fond  of  dancing,  and 
flirting  will  follow  somehow.  Oh,  think  how  ill  I  was 
a  few  months  ago,  and  how  unhappy  you  were  about  me  ! 
They  were  killing  me.  He  came  and  saved  me.  Yes, 
papa,  I  owe  all  this  health  and  strength  to  Christopher. 
I  did  take  them  off,  the  very  next  day,  and  see  the  effect 
of  it  and  my  long  walks.  I  owe  him  my  life,  and  what 
I  value  far  more,  my  good  looks.  La  !  I  wish  I  had  not 
told  you  that.  And  after  all  this,  don't  I  belong  to  my 
Christopher  ?    How  could  I  be  happy  or  respect  myself 


74  A  SIMPLETON. 

if  I  married  any  one  else  ?  And  oh,  papa !  he  looks  wan 
and  worn.  He  has  been  fretting  for  his  Simpleton.  Oh, 
dear !  I  mustn't  think  of  that  —  it  makes  me  cry ;  and 
you  don't  like  scenes,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Hate  'em  ! " 

"Well,  then,"  said  Eosa,  coaxingly,  "I'll  tell  you  how 
to  end  them.  Marry  your  Simpleton  to  the  only  man 
who  is  fit  to  take  care  of  her.  Oh,  papa !  think  of  his 
deep,  deep  affection  for  me,  and  pray  don't  snub  him  if 
—  by  any  chance  —  after  dinner  —  he  should  ha'ppen  to 
ask  you  —  something." 

"Oh,  then  it  is  possible  that,  by  the  merest  chance, 
the  gentleman  you  have  accidentally  asked  to  dinner, 
may,  by  some  strange  fortuity,  be  surprised  into  asking 
me  a  second  time  for  something  very  much  resembling 
my  daughter's  hand  —  eh  ?  " 

Rosa  colored  high.  "  He  might,  you  know.  How  can 
I  tell  what  gentlemen  will  say  when  the  ladies  have 
retired  and  they  are  left  alone  with  —  with  "  — 

"  With  the  bottle.  Ay,  that's  true ;  when  the  wine  is 
in,  the  wit  is  out." 

Said  Rosa,  "  Well,  if  he  should  happen  to  be  so  foolish, 
pray  think  of  we  ;  of  all  we  owe  him,  and  how  much  I 
love  him,  and  ought  to  love  him."  She  then  bestowed  a 
propitiatory  kiss,  and  ran  off  to  dress  for  dinner ;  it  was 
a  miich  longer  operation  to-day  than  usual. 

Dr.  Staines  was  punctual.  Mr.  Lusignan  commented 
favorably  on  that. 

"  He  always  is,"  said  Rosa,  eagerly. 

They  dined  together.  Mr.  Lusignan  chatted  freely, 
but  Staines  and  Rosa  were  under  a  feeling  of  restraint, 
Staines  in  particular;  he  could  not  help  feeling  that 
before  long  his  fate  must  be  settled.  He  would  either 
obtain  Rosa's  hand,  or  have  to  resign  her  to  some  man 
of  fortune  who  would  step  in ;  for  beauty  such  as  hers 


A  SEMPLETOK.  75 

could  not  long  lack  brilliant  offers.  Longing,  tliough 
dreading,  to  know  his  fate,  he  was  glad  when  dinner 
ended. 

Kosa  sat  with  them  a  little  while  after  dinner,  then 
rose,  bestowed  another  propitiatory  kiss  on  her  father's 
head,  and  retired  with  a  modest  blush,  and  a  look  at 
Christopher  that  was  almost  divine. 

It  inspired  him  with  the  courage  of  lions,  and  he 
commenced  the  attack  at  once. 


76  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTEK   V. 

"Mr.  Lusignan,"  said  he,  "the  last  time  I  was  here 
you  gave  me  some  hopes  that  you  might  be  prevailed  on 
to  trust  that  angel's  health  and  happiness  to  my  care." 

"Well,  Dr.  Staines,  I  will  not  beat  about  the  bush 
with  you.  My  judgment  is  still  against  this  marriage ; 
you  need  not  look  so  alarmed ;  it  does  not  follow  I  shall 
forbid  it.  I  feel  I  have  hardly  a  right  to,  for  my  Rosa 
might  be  in  her  grave  now  but  for  you;  and,  another 
thing,  when  I  interfered  between  you  two  I  had  no  proof 
you  were  a  man  of  ability ;  I  had  only  your  sweetheart's 
word  for  that ;  and  I  never  knew  a  case  before  where  a 
young  lady's  swan  did  not  turn  out  a  goose.  Your  rare 
ability  gives  you  another  chance  in  the  professional 
battle  that  is  before  you ;  indeed,  it  puts  a  different  face 
on  the  whole  matter.  I  still  think  it  premature.  Come 
now,  would  it  not  be  much  wiser  to  wait,  and  secure  a 
good  practice  before  you  marry  a  mere  child  ?  There  ! 
there  !  I  only  advise ;  I  don't  dictate ;  you  shall  settle 
it  together,  you  two  wiseacres.  Only  I  must  make  one 
positive  condition.  I  have  nothing  to  give  my  child 
during  my  lifetime ;  but  one  thing  I  have  done  for  her ; 
years  ago  I  insured  my  life  for  six  thousand  pounds ; 
and  you  must  do  the  same.  I  will  not  have  her  thrown 
on  the  world  a  widow,  with  a  child  or  two,  perhaps,  to 
support,  and  not  a  farthing ;  you  know  the  insecurity  of 
mortal  life." 

"I  do !  I  do !  Why,  of  course  I  will  insure  my  life, 
and  pay  the  annual  premium  out  of  my  little  capital, 
until  income  flows  in." 


A  SIMPLETON.  77 

"  Will  you  hand  me  over  a  sum  sufficient  to  pay  that 
premium  for  five  years  ?  " 

"With  pleasure." 

"Then  I  fear/'  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  sigh, 
"  my  opposition  to  the  match  must  cease  here.  I  still 
recommend  you  to  wait;  but  —  there!  I  might  just  as 
well  advise  fire  and  tow  to  live  neighbors  and  keep  cool." 

To  show  the  injustice  of  this  simile,  Christopher 
Staines  started  up  with  his  eyes  all  aglow,  and  cried  out, 
rapturously,  "  Oh,  sir,  may  I  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  may  tell  her,"  said  Lusignan,  with  a  smile. 
"  Stop  —  what  are  you  going  to  tell  her  ?  " 

"That  you  consent,  sir.  God  bless  you!  God  bless 
you  !     Oh ! " 

"  Yes,  but  that  I  advise  you  to  wait." 

"  I'll  tell  her  all,"  said  Staines,  and  rushed  out  even  as 
he  spoke,  and  upset  a  heavy  chair  with  a  loud  thud. 

"  Ah !  ah ! "  cried  the  old  gentleman  in  dismay,  and 
put  his  fingers  in  his  ears  —  too  late.  "  I  see,"  said  he, 
"  there  will  be  no  peace  and  quiet  now  till  they  are  out 
of  the  house."  He  lighted  a  soothing  cigar  to  counteract 
the  fracas. 

"  Poor  little  Eosa !  a  child  but  yesterday,  and  now  to 
encounter  the  cares  of  a  wife,  and  perhaps  a  mother. 
Ah !  she  is  but  young,  but  young."       . 

The  old  gentleman  prophesied  truly ;  from  that  moment 
he  had  no  peace  till  he  withdrew  all  semblance  of  dissent, 
and  even  of  procrastination. 

Christopher  insured  his  life  for  six  thousand  pounds, 
and  assigned  the  policy  to  his  wife.  Four  hundred 
pounds  was  handed  to  Mr.  Lusignan  to  pay  the  premiums 
until  the  genius  of  Dr.  Staines  shoidd  have  secured  him 
that  large  professional  income,  which  does  not  come  all 
at  once,  even  to  the  rare  physician,  who  is  Capax,  Effi- 
cax,  Sagax. 


78  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  wedding-day  was  named.  The  bridesmaids  were 
selected,  the  guests  invited.  None  refused  but  Uncle 
Philip.  He  declined,  in  his  fine  bold  hand,  to  counte- 
nance in  person  an  act  of  folly  he  disapproved.  Chris- 
topher put  his  letter  away  with  a  momentary  sigh,  and 
would  not  show  it  Eosa.  All  other  letters  they  read 
together,  charming  pastime  of  that  happy  period.  Pres- 
ents poured  in.  Silver  teapots,  coffeepots,  sugar-basins, 
cream-jugs,  fruit-dishes,  silver-gilt  inkstands,  albums, 
photograph-books,  little  candlesticks,  choice  little  services 
of  china,  shell  salt-cellars  in  a  case  lined  with  maroon 
velvet ;  a  Bible,  superb  in  binding  and  clasps,  and  every- 
thing but  the  text  —  that  was  illegible ;  a  silk  scarf  from 
Benares ;  a  gold  chain  from  Delhi,  six  feet  long  or 
nearly ;  a  Maltese  necklace,  a  ditto  in  exquisite  filagree 
from  Genoa ;  English  brooches,  a  trifle  too  big  and  brain- 
less ;  apostle  spoons ;  a  treble-lined  parasol  with  ivory 
stick  and  handle;  an  ivory  card-case,  richly  carved; 
workbox  of  sandal-wood  and  ivory,  etc.  Mr.  Lusignan's 
City  friends,  as  usual  with  these  gentlemen,  sent  the 
most  valuable  things.  Every  day  one  or  two  packages 
were  delivered,  and,  in  opening  them,  Kosa  invariably 
uttered  a  peculiar  scream  of  delight,  and  her  father  put 
his  fingers  in  his  ears ;  yet  there  was  music  in  this  very 
scream,  if  he  wouM  only  have  listened  to  it  candidly, 
instead  of  fixing  his  mind  on  his  vague  theory  of  screams 
—  so  formed  was  she  to  please  the  ear  as  well  as  the  eye. 

At  last  came  a  parcel  she  opened  and  stared  at,  smiling 
and  coloring  like  a  rose,  but  did  not  scream,  being  too 
dumfounded  and  perplexed ;  for  lo !  a  teapot  of  some 
base  material,  but  simple  and  elegant  in  form,  being  an 
exact  reproduction  of  a  melon ;  and  inside  this  teapot  a 
canvas  bag  containing  ten  guineas  in  silver,  and  a  wash- 
leather  bag  containing  twenty  guineas  in  gold,  and  a 
slip  of  paper,  which  Kosa,  being  now  half  recovered 


A    SIMPLETON.  79 

from  her  stupefaction,  read  out  to  her  father  and  Dr. 
Staines : 

"People  that  buy  presents  blindfold  give  duplicates  and 
trii^licates  ;  and  men  seldom  choose  to  a  woman's  taste  ;  so  be 
pleased  to  accept  the  enclosed  tea-leaves,  and  buy  for  yourself. 
The  teapot  you  can  put  on  the  hob,  for  it  is  nickel." 

Kosa  looked  sore  puzzled  again.  "Papa/'  said  she, 
timidly,  "have  we  any  friend  that  is  —  a  little  —  de- 
ranged ?  " 

"  A  lot." 

"'  Oh,  then,  that  accounts." 

"Why  no,  love,"  said  Christopher.  "I  have  heard  of 
much  learning  making  a  man  mad,  but  never  of  much 
good  sense." 

"  What !     Do  you  call  this  sensible  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"I'll  read  it  again,"  said  Rosa.  "Well  —  yes  —  I 
declare  —  it  is  not  so  mad  as  I  thought ;  but  it  is  very 
eccentric." 

Lusignan  suggested  there  was  nothing  so  eccentric  as 
common  sense,  especially  in  time  of  wedding.  "  This," 
said  he,  "  comes  from  the  City.  It  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
some  old  fox ;  he  is  throwing  dust  in  your  eyes  with  his 
reasons ;  his  real  reason  was  that  his  time  is  money ;  it 
•  would  have  cost  the  old  rogue  a  hundred  pounds'  worth 
of  time  —  you  know  the  City,  Christopher — to  go  out 
and  choose  the  girl  a  present ;  so  he  has  sent  his  clerk 
out  with  a  check  to  buy  a  pewter  teapot,  and  fill*  it  with 
specie." 

"  Pewter !  "  cried  Rosa.  "  No  such  thing !  It's  nickel. 
What  is  nickel,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  handwriting  afforded  no  clew,  so  there  the  dis- 
cussion ended :  but  it  was  a  nice  little  mystery,  and  very 


80  A  SIMPLETON. 

convenient;   made   conversation.      Rosa  had  many  an 
animated  discussion  about  it  with  her  female  friends. 

The  wedding-day  came  at  last.  The  sun  shone  — 
actually,  as  Rosa  observed.  The  carriages  drove  up. 
The  bridesmaids,  principally  old  schoolfellows  and 
impassioned  correspondents  of  Rosa,  were  pretty,  and 
dressed  alike  and  delightfully ;  but  the  bride  was  peer- 
less ;  her  Southern  beauty  literally  shone  in  that  white 
satin  dress  and  veil,  and  her  head  was  regal  with  the 
crown  of  orange-blossoms.  Another  crown  she  had  — 
true  virgin  modesty.  A  low  murmur  burst  from  the 
men  the  moment  they  saw  her ;  the  old  women  forgave 
her  beauty  on  the  spot,  and  the  young  women  almost 
pardoned  it;  she  was  so  sweet  and  womanly,  and  so 
sisterly  to  her  own  sex. 

When  they  started  for  the  church  she  began  to  tremble, 
she  scarce  knew  why ;  and  when  the  solemn  words  were 
said,  and  the  ring  was  put  on  her  finger,  she  cried  a 
little,  and  looked  half  imploringly  at  her  bridesmaids 
once,  as  if  scared  at  leaving  them  for  an  untried  and 
mysterious  life  with  no  woman  near. 

They  were  married.  Then  came  the  breakfast,  that 
hour  of  uneasiness  and  blushing  to  such  a  bride  as  this  ; 
but  at  last  she  was  released.  She  sped  up-stairs,  thank- 
ing goodness  it  was  over.  Down  came  her  last  box.  The 
bride  followed  in  a  plain  travelling  dress,  which  her 
glorious  eyes  and  brows  and  her  rich  glowing  cheeks" 
seemed  to  illumine  :  she  was  handed  into  the  carriage, 
the  bridegroom  followed.  All  the  young  guests  clustered 
about  the  door,  armed  with  white  shoes  —  slippers  are 
gone  by. 

They  started ;  the  ladies  flung  their  white  shoes  right 
and  left  with  religious  impartiality,  except  that  not  one 
of  their  missiles  went  at  the  object.  The  men,  more 
skilful,  sent  a  shower  on  to  the  roof  of  the  carriage. 


A   SIMPLETON.  81 

whicli  is  the  lucky  spot.  The  bride  kissed  her  hand, 
and  managed  to  put  off  crying,  though  it  cost  her  a 
struggle.  The  party  hurrahed ;  enthusiastic  youths 
gathered  fallen  shoes,  and  ran  and  hurled  them  again 
with  cheerful  yells,  and  away  went  the  happy  pair,  the 
bride  leaning  sweetly  and  confidingly  with  both  her 
white  hands  on  the  bridegroom's  shoulder,  while  he 
dried  the  tears  that  Avould  run  now  at  leaving  home  and 
parent  forever,  and  kissed  her  often,  and  encircled  her 
with  his  strong  arm,  and  murmured  comfort,  and  love, 
and  pride,  and  joy,  and  sweet  vows  of  lifelong  tenderness 
into  her  ears,  that  soon  stole  nearer  his  lips  to  hear,  and 
the  fair  cheek  grew  softly  to  his  shoulder. 


82  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Dr.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Staines  visited  France,  Switzer- 
land, and  the  Rhine,  and  passed  a  month  of  Elysium 
before  they  came  to  London  to  face  their  real  destiny 
and  fight  the  battle  of  life. 

And  here,  methinks,  a  reader  of  novels  may  perhaps 
cry  out  and  say,  "  What  manner  of  man  is  this,  who 
marries  his  hero  and  heroine,  and  then,  instead  of  leav- 
ing them  happy  for  life,  and  at  rest  from  his  uneasy  pen 
and  all  their  other  troubles,  flows  coolly  on  with  their 
adventures  ?  " 

To  this  I  can  only  reply  that  the  old  English  novel  is 
no  rule  to  me,  and  life  is  ;  and  I  respectfully  propose  an 
experiment.  Catch  eight  old  married  people,  four  of 
each  sex,  and  say  unto  them,  "  Sir,"  or  "  Madam,  did  the 
more  remarkable  events  of  your  life  come  to  you  before 
marriage  or  after  ?  "  Most  of  them  will  say  "  after,"  and 
let  that  be  my  excuse  for  treating  the  marriage  of  Christo- 
pher Staines  and  Rosa  Lusignan  as  merely  one  incident 
in  their  lives ;  an  incident  which,  so  far  from  ending  their 
story,  led  by  degrees  to  more  striking  events  than  any  that 
occurred  to  them  before  they  were  man  and  wife. 

They  returned,  then,  from  their  honey  tour,  and 
Staines,  who  was  methodical  and  kept  a  diary,  made 
the  following  entry  therein :  — 

"  We  have  now  a  life  of  endurance,  and  self-denial, 
and  economy,  before  us ;  we  have  to  rent  a  house,  and 
furnish  it,  and  live  in  it,  until  professional  income  shall 
flow  in  and  make  all  things  easy:  and  we  have  two 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds  left  to  do  it  with." 


A  SIMPLETON.  83 

They  calne  to  a  family  hotel,  and  Dr.  Staines  went 
out  directly  after  breakfast  to  look  for  a  house.  Acting 
on  a  friend's  advice,  he  visited  the  streets  and  places 
north  of  Oxford  Street,  looking  for  a  good  commodious 
house  adapted  to  his  business.  He  found  three  or  four 
at  fair  rents,  neither  cheap  nor  dear,  the  district  being 
respectable  and  rather  wealthy,  but  no  longer  fashionable. 
He  carne  home  with  his  notes,  and  found  Eosa  beaming 
in  a  cvisTp  2)6 ignoir,  and  her  lovely  head  its  natural  size 
and  shape,  high-bred  and  elegant.  He  sat  down,  and 
with  her  hand  in  his  proceeded  to  describe  the  houses  to 
her,  when  a  waiter  threw  open  the  door  —  "  Mrs.  John 
Cole." 

"  Florence  !  "  cried  Rosa,  starting  up. 

In  flowed  Florence :  they  both  uttered  a  little  squawk 
of  delight,  and  went  at  each  other  like  two  little  tigresses, 
and  kissed  in  swift  alternation  with  a  singular  ardor, 
drawing  their  crests  back  like  snakes,  and  then  darting 
them  forward  and  inflicting  what,  to  the  male  philosopher 
looking  on,  seemed  hard  kisses,  violent  kisses,  rather 
than  the  tender  ones  to  be  expected  from  two  tender 
creatures  embracing  each  other. 

"  Darling,"  said  Rosa,  "  I  knew  you  would  be  the  first. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  Christopher  ?  —  My  husband  —  my 
darling  Florry  !  Sit  down,  love,  and  tell  me  everything ; 
he  has  just  been  looking  out  for  a  house.  Ah !  you  have 
got  all  that  over  long  ago :  she  has  been  married  six 
months.  Florry,  you  are  handsomer  than  ever ;  and 
what  a  beautiful  dress  !  Ah !  London  is  the  place.  Real 
Brussels,  I  declare,"  and  she  took  hold  of  her  friend's 
lace  and  gloated  on  it. 

Christopher  smiled  good-naturedly,  and  said,  "  I  dare 
say  you  ladies  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each  other." 

"  Oceans,"  said  Rosa. 

"  I  will  go  and  hunt  houses  again." 


84  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  There's  a  good  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Cole,  as  soon  as 
the  door  closed  on  him,  "  and  such  a  line  man  !  Why, 
he  must  be  six  feet.  Mine  is  rather  short.  But  he  is 
very  good  ;  refuses  me  nothing.     My  will  is  law." 

"  That  is  all  right  —  you  are  so  sensible ;  but  I  want 
governing  a  little,  and  I  like  it  —  actually.  Did  the 
dressmaker  find  it,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  had  it  by  me.  I  bought  it  at  Brussels  on 
our  wedding  tour  :  it  is  dearer  there  than  in  London." 

She  said  this  as  if  "  dearer "  and  "  better "  were 
synonymous. 

"  But  about  your  house,  Eosie  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  darling,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  never  saw 
a  moir^  this  shade  before.  I  don't  care  for  them  in 
general ;  but  this  is  so  distingue." 

Florence  rewarded  her  with  a  kiss. 

"The  house,"  said  Eosa.  "Oh,  he  has  seen  one  in 
Portman  Street,  and  one  in  Gloucester  Place." 

"  Oh,  that  will  never  do,"  cried  Mrs.  Cole.  "  It  is  no 
use  being  a  physician  in  those  out-of-the-way  places. 
He  must  be  in  Mayfair." 

"  Must  he  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  Besides,  then  my  Johnnie  can  call  him 
in  when  they  are  just  going  to  die.  Jolinnie  is  a  general 
prac,  and  makes  two  thousand  a  year  ;  and  he  shall  call 
your  one  in  ;  but  he  must  live  in  Mayfair.  Why,  Eosie, 
you  would  not  be  such  a  goose  as  to  live  in  those  places 
—  they  are  quite  gone  by." 

"  I  shall  do  whatever  you  advise  me,  dear.  Oh,  what 
a  comfort  to  have  a  dear  friend :  and  six  months  mar- 
ried, and  knows  things.  How  richly  it  is  trimmed ! 
Why,  it  is  nearly  all  trimmings." 

"  That  is  the  fashion." 

"  Oh ! " 

And  after  that  big  word  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 


A   SIMPLETON.  85 

These  two  ladies  in  their  conversation  gravitated 
towards  dress,  and  fell  flat  on  it  every  half-minute. 
That  great  and  elevating  topic  held  them  by  a  silken 
cord,  but  it  allowed  them  to  flutter  upwards  into  other 
topics ;  and  in  those  intervals,  numerous  though  brief, 
the  lady  who  had  been  married  six  months  found  time 
to  instruct  the  matrimonial  novice  with  great  authority, 
and  even  a  shade  of  pomposity.  "My  dear,  the  way 
ladies  and  gentlemen  get  a  house  —  in  the  first  place,  you 
don't  go  about  yourself  like  that,  and  you  never  go  to 
the  people  themselves,  or  you  are  sure  to  be  taken  in, 
but  to  a  respectable  house-agent." 

"Yes,  dear,  that  must  be  the  best  way,  one  would 
think." 

"  Of  course  it  is  ;  and  you  ask  for  a  house  in  Mayfair, 
and  he  shows  you  several,  and  recommends  you  the  best, 
and  sees  you  are  not  cheated." 

"  Thank  you,  love,"  said  Kosa ;  "  now  I  know  what  to 
do ;  I'll  not  forget  a  word.  And  the  train  so  beautifully 
shaped !  Ah !  it  is  only  in  London  or  Paris  they  can 
make  a  dress  flow  behind  like  that,"  etc.,  etc. 

Dr.  Staines  came  back  to  dinner  in  good  spirits;  he 
had  found  a  house  in  Harewood  Square ;  good  entrance- 
hall,  where  his  gratuitous  patients  might  sit  on  benches  ; 
good  dining-room  where  his  superior  patients  might  wait ; 
and  good  library,  to  be  used  as  a  consulting-room.  Rent 
only  eighty-five  pounds  per  annum. 

But  Rosa  told  him  that  would  never  do  ;  a  physicjian 
must  be  in  the  fashionable  part  of  the  town. 

"Eventually,"  said  Christopher;  "but  surely  at  first 
starting  —  and  you  know  they  say  little  boats  should  not 
go  too  far  from  shore." 

Then  Rosa  repeated  all  her  friend's  arguments,  and 
seemed  so  unhappy  at  the  idea  of  not  living  near  her, 
that  Staines,  who  had  not  yet  said  the  hard  word  "  no  " 


86  A  SIMPLETON. 

to  her,  gave  in ;  consoling  his  prudence  with  the  reflec- 
tion that,  after  all,  Mr.  Cole  could  put  many  a  guinea  in 
his  way,  for  Mr.  Cole  was  middle-aged,  —  though  his 
wife  was  young,  —  and  had  really  a  very  large  practice. 

So  next  day,  the  newly-wedded  pair  called  on  a  house- 
agent  in  Mayfair,  and  his  son  and  partner  went  with 
them  to  several  places.  The  rents  of  houses  equal  to 
that  in  Harewood  Square  were  three  hundred  pounds  a 
year  at  least,  and  a  premium  to  boot. 

Christopher  told  him  these  were  quite  beyond  the 
mark.  "  Very  well,"  said  the  agent.  "  Then  I'll  show 
you  a  Bijou." 

Eosa  clapped  her  hands.  "  That  is  the  thing  for  us. 
We  don't  want  a  large  house,  only  a  beautiful  one,  and  in 
Mayfair." 

"  Then  the  Bijou  will  be  sure  to  suit  you." 

He  took  them  to  the  Bijou. 

The  Bijou  had  a  small  dining-room  with  one  very  large 
window  in  two  sheets  of  plate  glass,  and  a  projecting 
balcony  full  of  flowers ;  a  still  smaller  library,  which 
opened  on  a  square  yard  enclosed.  Here  were  a  great 
many  pots,  with  flowers  dead  or  dying  from  neglect. 
On  the  first  floor  a  fair-sized  drawing-room,  and  a  tiny 
one  at  the  back :  on  the  second  floor,  one  good  bedroom, 
and  a  dressing-room,  or  little  bedroom:  three  garrets 
above. 

Eosa  was  in  ecstasies.     "It  is  a  nest,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  bank-note,"  said  the  agent,  stimulating  equal 
enthusiasm,  after  his  fashion.  "  You  can  always  sell  the 
lease  again  for  more  money." 

Christopher  kept  cool.  "  I  don't  want  a  house  to  sell, 
but  to  live  in,  and  do  my  business ;  I  am  a  physician : 
now  the  drawing-room  is  built  over  the  entrance  to  a 
mews ;  the  back  rooms  all  look  into  a  mews :  we  shall 
have  the  eternal  noise  and  smell  of  a  mews.     My  wife's 


A  SIMPLETON.  87 

rest  will  be  broken  by  the  carriages  rolling  in  and  out. 
The  hall  is  fearfully  small  and  stuffy.  The  rent  is 
abominably  high;  and  what  is  the  premium  for,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  Always  a  premium  in  Mayfair,  sir,  A  lease  is  prop 
erty  here:  the  gentleman  is  not  acquainted  with  this 
part,  madam." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is,"  said  Rosa,  as  boldly  as  a  six  years' 
wife  :  "  he  knows  everything." 

"  Then  he  knows  that  a  house  of  this  kind  at  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty  pounds  a  year  in  Mayfair  is  a  bank-note." 

Staines  turned  to  Eosa.  "  The  poor  patients,  where 
am  I  to  receive  them  ?  " 

"  In  the  stable,"  suggested  the  house  agent. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Rosa,  shocked. 

"Well,  then,  the  coach-house.  Why,  there's  plenty  of 
room  for  a  brougham,  and  one  horse,  and  fifty  poor 
patients  at  a  time :  beggars  musn't  be  choosers  ;  if  you 
give  them  physic  gratis,  that  is  enough  :  you  ain't  bound 
to  find  'em  a  palace  to  sit  down  in,  and  hot  coffee  and 
rump  steaks  all  round,  doctor." 

This  tickled  Rosa  so  that  she  burst  out  laughing,  and 
thenceforward  giggled  at  intervals,  wit  of  this  refined 
nature  having  all  the  charm  of  novelty  for  her. 

They  inspected  the  stables,  which  were  indeed  the  one 
redeeming  feature  in  the  horrid  little  Bijou ;  and  then 
the  agent  would  show  them  the  kitchen,  and  the  new 
stove.  He  expatiated  on  this  to  Mrs.  Staines.  "  Cook  a 
dinner  for  thirty  people,  madam." 

"  And  there's  room  for  them  to  eat  it  —  in  the  road," 
said  Staines. 

The  agent  reminded  him  there  were  larger  places  to 
be  had,  by  a  very  simple  process,  viz.,  paying  for 
them, 

Staines   thought   of   the   large,  comfortable  house  in 


88  A  SIMPLETON. 

Harewood  Square.  "  One  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  a 
year  for  this  poky  little  hole  ?  "  he  groaned. 

"  Why,  it  is  nothing  at  all  for  a  Bijou." 

"  But  it  is  too  much  for  a  bandbox." 

Kosa  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  with  an  imploring 
glance. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'll  submit  to  the  rent,  but  I  really 
cannot  give  the  premium,  it  is  too  ridiculous.  He  ought 
to  bribe  me  to  rent  it,  not  I  him." 

"  Can't  be  done  without,  sir." 

"Well,  I'll  give  a  hundred  pounds  and  no  more." 

"  Impossible,  sir." 

"  Then  good  morning.  Now,  dearest,  just  come  and 
see  the  house  at  Harewood  Square,  —  eighty -five  pounds 
and  no  premium." 

"Will  you  oblige  me  with  your  address,  doctor?" 
said  the  agent. 

"  Dr.  Staines,  Morley's  Hotel." 

And  so  they  left  Mayfair. 

Rosa  sighed  and  said,  "  Oh,  the  nice  little  place ;  and 
we  have  lost  it  for  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  is  a  great  deal  for  us  to  throw 
away." 

"  Being  near  the  Coles  would  soon  have  made  that  up 
to  you :  and  such  a  cosey  little  nest." 

"  Well  the  house  will  not  run  away." 

"But  somebody  is  sure  to  snap  it  up.  It  is  a  Bijou." 
She  was  disappointed,  and  half  inclined  to  pout.  But 
she  vented  her  feelings  in  a  letter  to  her  beloved  Florry, 
and  appeared  at  dinner  as  sweet  as  usual. 

During  dinner  a  note  came  from  the  agent,  accepting 
Dr.  Staine's  offer.  He  glozed  the  matter  thus :  he  had 
persuaded  the  owner  it  was  better  to  take  a  good  tenant 
at  a  moderate  loss,  than  to  let  the  Bijou  be  uninhabited 
during  the  present  rainy  season.     An  assignment  of  the 


A  SIMPLETON.  89 

lease  —  which  contained  the  usual  covenants — would 
be  prepared  immediately,  and  Dr.  Staines  could  have 
possession  in  forty-eight  hours,  by  paying  the  pre- 
mium. 

Rosa  was  delighted,  and  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over, 
and  the  waiters  gone,  she  came  and  kissed  Christopher. 

He  smiled,  and  said,  "  Well,  you  are  pleased  ;  that  is 
the  principal  thing.  I  have  saved  two  hundred  pounds, 
and  that  is  something.     It  will  go  towards  furnishing." 

"La!  yes,"  said  Rosa,  "I  forgot.  We  shall  have  to 
get  furniture  now.  How  nice  ! "  It  was  a  pleasure  the 
man  of  forecast  could  have  willingly  dispensed  with ; 
but  he  smiled  at  her,  and  they  discussed  furniture,  and 
Christopher,  whose  retentive  memory  had  picked  up  a 
little  of  everything,  said  there  were  wholesale  uphol- 
sterers in  the  City  who  sold  cheaper  than  the  West-end 
houses,  and  he  thought  the  best  way  was  to  measure  the 
rooms  in  the  Bijou,  and  go  to  the  city  with  a  clear  idea 
of  what  they  wanted ;  ask  the  prices  of  various  neces- 
sary articles,  and  then  make  a  list,  and  demand  a  dis- 
count of  fifteen  per  cent  on  the  whole  order,  being  so 
considerable,  and  paid  for  in  cash. 

Rosa  acquiesced,  and  told  Christopher  he  was  the 
cleverest  man  in  England. 

About  nine  o'clock  Mrs.  Cole  came  in  to  condole  with 
her  friend,  and  heard  the  good  news.  "When  Rosa  told 
her  how  they  thought  of  furnishing,  she  said,  "  Oh  no, 
you  must  not  do  that ;  you  will  pay  double  for  every- 
thing. That  is  the  mistake  Johnnie  and  I  made ;  and 
after  that  a  friend  of  mine  took  me  to  the  auction-rooms, 
and  I  saw  everything  sold  —  oh,  such  bargains  ;  half, 
and  less  than  half,  their  value.  She  has  furnished  her 
house  almost  entirely  from  sales,  and  she  has  the  love- 
liest things  in  the  world  —  such  ducks  of  tables,  and^ar- 
dinieres,   and  things;    and   beautiful   rare   china  —  her 


90  A   SIMPLETON. 

house  swarms  with  it  —  for  an  old  song.  A  sale  is  the 
place.     And  then  so  amusing." 

"  Yes,  but,"  said  Christopher,  "  I  should  not  like  my 
wife  to  encounter  a  public  room." 

"  Not  alone,  of  course ;  but  with  me.  La !  Dr.  Staines, 
they  are  too  full  of  buying  and  selling  to  trouble  their 
heads  about  us." 

"  Oh,  Christopher,  do  let  me  go  with  her.  Am  I  always 
to  be  a  child  ?  " 

Thus  appealed  to  before  a  stranger,  Staines  replied 
warmly,  ''  No,  dearest,  no ;  you  cannot  please  me  better 
than  by  beginning  life  in  earnest.  If  you  two  ladies 
together  can  face  an  auction-room,  go  by  all  means ;  only 
I  must  ask  you  not  to  buy  china  or  ormulu,  or  anything 
that  will  break  or  spoil,  but  only  solid,  good  furniture." 

"  Won't  you  come  with  us  ?  " 

"No;  or  you  might  feel  yourself  in  leading-strings. 
Remember  the  Bijou  is  a  small  house  ;  choose  your  fur- 
niture to  fit  it,  and  then  we  shall  save  something  by  its 
being  so  small." 

This  was  Wednesday.  There  was  a  weekly  sale  in 
Oxford  Street  on  Fridays ;  and  the  ladies  made  the  ap- 
pointment accordingly. 

Next  day,  after  breakfast,  Christopher  was  silent  and 
thoughtful  awhile,  and  at  last  said  to  Eosa,  "  I'll  show 
you  I  don't  look  on  you  as  a  child ;  I'll  consult  you  in  a 
delicate  matter." 

Rosa's  eyes  sparkled. 

"It  is  about  my  Uncle  Philip.  He  has  been  very 
cruel ;  he  has  wounded  me  deeply ;  he  has  wounded  me 
through  my  wife.  I  never  thought  he  would  refuse  to 
come  to  our  marriage." 

"  And  did  he  ?     You  never  showed  me  his  letter." 

"  You  were  not  my  wife  then.  I  kept  an  affront  from 
you  J  but  now,  you  see,  I  keep  nothing." 


A   SBIPLETON.  91 

"Dear  Christie  !" 

"  I  am  so  happy,  I  have  got  over  that  sting  —  almost ; 
and  the  memory  of  many  kind  acts  comes  back  to  me  ; 
and  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  It  seems  ungrateful  not 
to  visit  him  —  it  seems  almost  mean  to  call." 

"  I'll  tell  you ;  take  me  to  see  him  directly.  He  won't 
hate  us  forever,  if  he  sees  us  often.  We  may  as  well 
begin  at  once.     Nobody  hates  me  long." 

Christopher  was  proud  of  his  wife's  courage  and  wis- 
dom. He  kissed  her,  begged  her  to  put  on  the  plainest 
dress  she  could,  and  they  went  together  to  call  on  Uncle 
Philip. 

When  they  got  to  his  house  in  Gloucester  Place,  Port- 
man  Square,  Rosa's  heart  began  to  quake,  and  she  was 
right  glad  when  the  servant  said  '^  iS"ot  at  home." 

They  left  their  cards  and  address ;  and  she  persuaded 
Christopher  to  take  her  to  the  sale-room  to  see  the  things. 

A  lot  of  brokers  were  there,  like  vultures ;  and  one 
after  another  stepped  forward  and  pestered  them  to 
employ  him  in  the  morning.  Dr.  Staines  declined  their 
services  civilly  but  firmly,  and  he  and  Rosa  looked  over 
a  quantity  of  furniture,  and  settled  what  sort  of  things 
to  buy. 

Another  broker  came  up,  and  whenever  the  couple 
stopped  before  an  article,  proceeded  to  praise  it  as  some- 
thing most  extraordinary.  Staines  listened  in  cold,  satir- 
ical silence,  and  told  his  wife,  in  French,  to  do  the  same. 
Notwithstanding  their  marked  disgust,  the  impudent, 
intrusive  fellow  stuck  to  them,  and  forced  his  venal 
criticism  on  them,  and  made  them  uncomfortable,  and 
shortened  their  tour  of  observation. 

"  I  think  I  shall  come  with  you  to-morrow,"  said  Chris- 
topher, "  or  I  shall  have  these  blackguards  pestering  you." 

"Oh,  Florry  will  send  them  to  the  right-about.  She 
is  as  brave  as  a  lion." 


92  A   SIMPLETON. 

Next  day  Dr.  Staines  was  sent  for  into  the  City  at 
twelve  to  pay  the  money  and  receive  the  lease  of  the 
Bijou,  and  this  and  the  taking  possession  occupied  him 
till  four  o'clock,  when  he  came  to  his  hotel. 

Meantime,  his  wife  and  Mrs.  Cole  had  gone  to  the 
auction-room. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  a  good  sprinkling  of  people, 
but  not  crowded  except  about  the  table.  At  the  head  of 
this  table  —  full  twenty  feet  long  —  was  the  auctioneer's 
pulpit,  and  the  lots  were  brought  in  turn  to  the  other 
end  of  the  table  for  sight  and  sale. 

"We  must  try  and  get  a  seat,"  said  the  enterprising 
Mrs.  Cole,  and  pushed  boldly  in;  the  timid  Eosa  fol- 
lowed strictly  in  her  wake,  and  so  evaded  the  human 
waves  her  leader  clove.  They  were  importuned  at  every 
step  by  brokers  thrusting  catalogues  on  them,  with  offers 
of  their  services,  yet  they  soon  got  to  the  table.  A 
gentleman  resigned  one  chair,  a  broker  another,  and  they 
were  seated. 

Mrs.  Staines  let  down  half  her  veil,  but  Mrs.  Cole  sur- 
veyed the  company  point-blank. 

The  broker  who  had  given  up  his  seat,  and  now  stood 
behind  Kosa,  offered  her  his  catalogue.  "No,  thank 
you,"  said  Rosa ;  "  I  have  one ; "  and  she  produced  it, 
and  studied  it,  yet  managed  to  look  furtively  at  the 
company. 

There  were  not  above  a  dozen  private  persons  visible 
from  where  Rosa  sat;  perhaps  as  many  more  in  the 
whole  room.  They  were  easily  distinguishable  by  their 
cleanly  appearance :  the  dealers,  male  or  female,  were 
more  or  less  rusty,  greasy,  dirty,  aquiline.  Not  even 
the  amateurs  were  brightly  dressed;  that  fundamental 
error  was  confined  to  Mesdames  Cole  and  Staines.  The 
experienced,  however  wealthy,  do  not  hunt  bargains  in 
silk  and  satin. 


A   SIMPLETON".  93 

The  auctioneer  called  "  Lot  7.  Four  saucepans,  two 
trays,  a  kettle,  a  bootjack,  and  a  towel-horse." 

These  were  put  up  at  two  shillings,  and  speedily 
knocked  down  for  five  to  a  fat  old  woman  in  a  greasy 
velvet  jacket;  blind  industry  had  sewed  bugles  on  it, 
not  artfully,  but  agriculturally. 

"The  lady  on  the  left!"  said  the  auctioneer  to  his 
clerk.     That  meant  "  Get  the  money." 

The  old  lady  plunged  a  huge  paw  into  a  huge  pocket, 
and  pulled  out  a  huge  handful  of  coin  —  copper,  silver, 
and  gold  —  and  paid  for  the  lot ;  and  Rosa  surveyed  her 
dirty  hands  and  nails  with  innocent  dismay.  "  Oh,  what 
a  dreadful  creature!"  she  whispered;  ''and  what  can 
she  want  with  those  old  rubbishy  things  ?  I  saw  a  hole 
in  one  from  here."  The  broker  overheard,  and  said, 
"  She  is  a  dealer,  ma'am,  and  the  things  were  given 
away.     She'll  sell  them  for  a  guinea,  easy." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Cole. 

Soon  after  this  the  superior  lots  came  on,  and  six  very 
neat  bedroom  chairs  were  sold  to  all  appearance  for  fif- 
teen shillings. 

The  next  lot  was  identical,  and  Rosa  hazarded  a  bid, 
—  "  Sixteen  shillings." 

Instantly  some  dealer,  one  of  the  hook-nosed  that 
gathered  round  each  lot  as  it  came  to  the  foot  of  the 
table,  cried  "  Eighteen  shillings." 

"  Nineteen,"  said  Rosa. 

"  A  guinea,"  said  the  dealer. 

"  Don't  let  it  go,"  said  the  broker  behind  her.  "  Don't 
let  it  go,  ma'am." 

She  colored  at  the  intrusion,  and  left  off  bidding 
directly,  and  addressed  herself  to  Mrs.  Cole.  "  Why 
should  I  give  so  much,  when  the  last  were  sold  for  fif- 
teen shillings  ?  " 

The  real  reason  was  that  the  first  lot  was  not  bid  for 


94  A  SIMPLETON. 

at  all,  except  by  tlie  proprietor.  However,  the  broker 
gave  her  a  very  different  solution ;  he  said,  "  The  trade 
always  run  up  a  lady  or  a  gentleman.  Let  me  bid  for 
you ;  they  won't  run  me  up ;  they  know  better." 

Rosa  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at  Mrs.  Cole. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  that  lady ;  "  you  had  much  better 
let  him  bid  for  you." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Rosa ;  "  you  can  bid  for  this  chest 
of  drawers  —  lot  25." 

When  lot  25  came  on,  the  broker  bid  in  the  silliest 
possible  way,  if  his  object  had  been  to  get  a  bargain. 
He  began  to  bid  early  and  ostentatiously;  the  article 
was  protected  by  somebody  or  other  there  present,  who 
now  of  course  saw  his  way  clear;  he  ran  it  up  auda- 
ciously, and  it  was  purchased  for  Rosa  at  about  the  price 
it  could  have  been  bought  for  at  a  shop. 

The  next  thing  she  wanted  was  a  set  of  oak  chairs. 

They  went  up  to  twenty-eight  pounds ;  then  she  said, 
"  I  shall  give  no  more,  sir." 

"  Better  not  lose  them,"  said  the  agent ;  "  they  are  a 
great  bargain ; "  and  bid  another  pound  for  her  on  his 
own  responsibility. 

They  were  still  run  up,  and  Rosa  peremptorily  refused 
to  give  any  more.  She  lost  them,  accordingly,  by  good 
luck.  Her  faithful  broker  looked  blank;  so  did  the 
proprietor. 

But,  as  the  sale  proceeded,  she  being  young,  the  com- 
petition, though  most  of  it  sham,  being  artful  and  excit- 
ing, and  the  traitor  she  employed  constantly  puffing 
every  article,  she  was  drawn  in  to  wishing  for  things, 
and  bidding  by  her  feelings. 

Then  her  traitor  played  a  game  that  has  been  played  a 
hundred  times,  and  the  perpetrators  never  once  lynched, 
as  they  ought  to  be,  on  the  spot.  He  signalled  a  con- 
federate with  a  hooked  nose ;  the  Jew  rascal  bid  against 


A  SIMPLETOl*  95 

the  Christian  scoundrel,  and  so  they  ran  up  the  more 
enticing  things  to  twice  their  vahie  under  the  hammer. 

Kosa  got  flushed,  and  her  eye  gleamed  like  a  gambler's, 
and  she  bought  away  like  wildfire.  In  which  sport  she 
caught  sight  of  an  old  gentleman,  with  little  black  eyes 
that  kept  twinkling  at  her. 

She  complained  of  these  eyes  to  Mrs.  Cole.  "Wliy 
does  he  twinkle  so  ?  I  can  see  it  is  at  me.  I  am  doing 
something  foolish  —  I  know  I  am." 

Mrs.  Cole  turned,  and  fixed  a  haughty  stare  on  the  old 
gentleman.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  instead  of  sinking 
through  the  floor,  he  sat  his  ground,  and  retorted  with  a 
cold,  clear  grin. 

But  now,  whenever  Rosa's  agent  bid  for  her,  and  the 
other  man  of  straw  against  him,  the  black  eyes  twinkled, 
and  Eosa's  courage  began  to  ooze  away.  At  last  she  said, 
"  That  is  enough  for  one  day.  I  shall  go.  Who  could 
'bear  those  eyes  ?  " 

The  broker  took  her  address ;  so  did  the  auctioneer's 
clerk.  The  auctioneer  asked  her  for  no  deposit;  her 
beautiful,  innocent,  and  high-bred  face  was  enough  for 
a  man  who  was  always  reading  faces,  and  interpreting 
them. 

And  so  they  retired. 

But  this  charming  sex  is  like  that  same  auctioneer's 
hammer,  it  cannot  go  abruptly.  It  is  always  going  — 
going  —  going  —  a  long  time  before  it  is  gone.  I  think 
it  would  perhaps  loiter  at  the  door  of  a  jail,  with  the 
order  of  release  in  its  hand,  after  six  years'  confinement. 
Getting  up  to  go  quenches  in  it  the  desire  to  go.  So 
these  ladies  having  got  up  to  go,  turned  and  lingered, 
and  hung  fire  so  long,  that  at  last  another  set  of  oak 
chairs  came  up.  "  Oh !  I  must  see  what  these  go  for," 
said  Rosa,  at  the  door. 

The  bidding  was  mighty  languid  now  Rosa's  broker 


96  i*  SIMPLETON. 

was  not  stimulating  it;  and  the  auctioneer  was  just 
knocking  down  twelve  chairs  —  oak  and  leather  —  and 
two  arm-chairs,  for  twenty  pounds,  when,  casting  his 
eyes  around,  he  caught  sight  of  Kosa  looking  at  him 
rather  excited.  He  looked  inquiringly  at  her.  She 
nodded  slightly;  he  knocked  them  down  to  her  at 
twenty  guineas,  and  they  were  really  a  great  bargain. 

"  Twenty -two,"  cried  the  dealer. 

"  Too  late,"  said  the  auctioneer. 

"  I  spoke  with  the  hammer,  sir." 

"After  the  hammer,  Isaacs." 

"  Shelp  me  God,  we  was  together." 

One  or  two  more  of  his  tribe  confirmed  this  pious 
falsehood,  and  clamored  to  have  them  put  up  again. 

"  Call  the  next  lot,"  said  the  auctioneer,  peremptorily. 
"Make  up  your  mind  a  little  quicker  next  time,  Mr. 
Isaacs;  you  have  been  long  enough  at  it  to  know  the 
value  of  oak  and  moroccar." 

Mrs.  Staines  and  her  friend  now  started  for  Morley's 
Hotel,  but  went  round  by  Regent  Street,  whereby  they 
got  glued  at  Peter  Robinson's  window,  and  nine  other 
windows ;  and  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when  they 
reached  Morley's.  As  they  came  near  the  door  of  their 
sitting-room,  Mrs.  Staines  heard  somebody  laughing  and 
talking  to  her  husband.  The  laugh,  to  her  subtle  eaxs, 
did  not  sound  musical  and  genial,  but  keen,  satirical, 
unpleasant;  so  it  was  with  some  timidity  she  opened 
the  door,  and  there  sat  the  old  chap  with  the  twinkling 
eyes.     Both  parties  stared  at  each  other  a  moment. 

"  Why,  it  is  them,"  cried  the  old  gentleman.  "  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Rosa  colored  all  over,  and  felt  guilty  somehow,  and 
looked  miserable. 

"Rosa  dear,"  said  Dr.  Staines,  "this  is  our  Uncle 
Philip." 


A   SIMPLETON.  97 

"  Oh  I "  said  Rosa,  and  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns ; 
for  she  had  a  great  desire  to  propitiate  Uncle  Philip. 

"  You  were  in  the  auction-room,  sir  ? ''  said  Mrs.  Cole, 
severely. 

"  I  was,  madam.     He  !  he  ! " 

"  Furnishing  a  house  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am.  I  go  to  a  dozen  sales  a  week  ;  but  it  is 
not  to  buy  —  I  enjoy  the  humors.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Robert  Burton,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  No.  Yes ;  a  great  traveller,  isn't  he  ?  Discovered 
the  Nile — or  the  Niger — or  something  ?^^ 

This  majestic  vagueness  staggered  old  Crusty  at  fi,vst, 
but  he  recovered  his  equilibrium,  and  said,  "Why,  jes, 
now  I  think  of  it,  you  are  right ;  he  has  travelled  farther 
than  most  of  us,  for  about  two  centuries  ago  he  visited 
that  bourn  whence  no  traveller  returns.  Well,  when  he 
was  alive  —  he  was  a  student  of  Christchurch  —  he  used 
to  go  down  to  a  certain  bridge  over  the  Isis  and 
enjoy  the  chaff  of  the  bargemen.  Now  there  are  no 
bargemen  left  to  speak  of ;  the  mantle  of  Bobby  Burton's 
bargees  has  fallen  on  the  Jews  and  demi-semi-Christians 
that  buy  and  sell  furniture  at  the  weekly  auctions ; 
thither  I  repair  to  hear  what  little  coarse  wit  is  left  us. 
Used  to  go  to  the  House  of  Commons;  but  they  are 
getting  too  civil  by  half  for  my  money.  Besides,  charac- 
ters come  out  in  an  auction.  For  instance,  only  this  vcny 
day  I  saw  two  ladies  enter,  in  gorgeous  attire,  like 
heifers  decked  for  sacrifice,  and  reduce  their  spoliation 
to  a  certainty  by  employing  a  broker  to  bid.  Now,  what 
is  a  broker  ?  A  fellow  who  is  to  be  paid  a  shilling  in 
the  pound  for  all  articles  purchased.  AVhat  is  his  inter- 
est, then  ?  To  buy  cheap  ?  Clearly  not.  He  is  paid 
in  proportion  to  the  dearness  of  the  article." 

Rosa's  face  began  to  work  piteously. 

"Accordingly,  what  did  the  broker  in  question  do? 


98  A   SEVrPLETON. 

He  winked  to  another  broker,  and  these  two  bid  against 
one  another,  over  their  victim's  head,  and  ran  everything 
she  wanted  up  at  least  a  hundred  per  cent  above  the 
value.  So  open  and  transparent  a  swindle  I  have  seldom 
seen,  even  in  an  auction-room.     Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

His  mirth  was  interrupted  by  Kosa  going  to  her 
husband,  hiding  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  meekly 
crying. 

Christopher  comforted  her  like  a  man.  "Don't  you 
cry,  darling,"  said  he  ;  "  how  should  a  pure  creature  like 
you  know  the  badness  of  the  world  all  in  a  moment  ? 
If  it  is  my  wife  you  are  laughing  at,  Uncle  Philip,  let 
me  tell  you  this  is  the  wrong  place.  I'd  rather  a  thou- 
sand times  have  her  as  she  is,  than  armed  with  the 
cunning  and  suspicions  of  a  hardened  old  worldling  like 
you." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  who,  to  do 
him  justice,  could  take  blows  as  well  as  give  them  ; 
"  but  why  employ  a  broker  ?  AVhy  pay  a  scoundrel  five 
per  cent  to  make  you  pay  a  hundred  per  cent  ?  Why 
pay  a  noisy  fool  a  farthing  to  open  his  mouth  for  you 
when  you  have  taken  the  trouble  to  be  there  yourself, 
and  have  got  a  mouth  of  your  own  to  bid  discreetly 
with  ?  Was  ever  such  an  absurdity  ?  "  He  began  to 
get  angry. 

"  Do  you  want  to  quarrel  with  me,  Uncle  Philip  ? " 
said  Christopher,  firing  up;  "because  sneering  at  my 
Rosa  is  the  way,  and  the  only  way,  and  the  sure  way." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Rosa,  interposing.  "  Uncle  Philip  was 
right.  I  am  very  foolish  and  inexperienced,  but  I  am 
not  so  vain  as  to  turn  from  good  advice.  I  will  never 
employ  a  broker  again,  sir." 

Uncle  Philip  smiled  and  looked  pleased. 

Mrs.  Cole  caused  a  diversion  by  taking  leave,  and 
Rosa  followed  her  down-stairs.    On  her  return  she  found 


A   SEMPLETON.  99 

Christopher  telling  his  uncle  all  about  the  Bijou,  and 
how  he  had  taken  it  for  a  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  a 
year  and  a  hundred  pounds  premixun,  and  Uncle  Philip 
staring  fearfully. 

At  last  he  found  his  tongue.  "  The  Bijou ! "  said  he. 
"  Why,  that  is  a  name  they  gave  to  a  little  den  in  Dear 
Street,  Mayf air.  You  haven't  ever  been  and  taken  that ! 
Built  over  a  mews." 

Christopher  groaned.     "  That  is  the  place,  I  fear." 

"  Why  the  owner  is  a  friend  of  mine ;  an  old  patient. 
Stables  stunk  him  out.  Let  it  to  a  man ;  I  forget  his 
name.  Stables  stunk  him  out.  He  said,  'I  shall  go. 
'You  can't,'  said  my  friend;  'you  have  taken  a  lease.' 

'  Lease  be  d d,'  said  the  other ;  '  I  never  took  ~yoicr 

house ;  here's  quite  a  large  stench  not  specified  in  your 
description  of  the  property — it  canH  be  the  satne  j^lcice  ; ' 
flung  the  lease  at  his  head,  and  cut  like  the  wind  to 
foreign  parts  less  odoriferous.  I'd  have  got  you  the 
hole  for  ninety  ;  but  you  are  like  your  wife  —  you  must 
go  to  an  agent.  What !  don't  you  know  that  an  agent  is 
a  man  acting  for  you  with  an  interest  opposed  to  yours  ? 
Employing  an  agent !  it  is  like  a  Trojan  seeking  the  aid 
of  a  Greek.  You  needn't  cry,  Mrs.  Staines ;  your  husband 
has  been  let  in  deeper  than  you  have.  Now,  you  are 
young  people  beginning  life ;  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of 
advice.  Employ  others  to  do  what  you  can't  do,  and  it 
must  be  done ;  but  never  to  do  anything  you  can  do 
better  for  yourselves !  Agent !  The  word  is  derived 
from  a  Latin  word  'ayere,'  to  do;  and  agents  act  up  to 
their  etymology,  for  they  invariably  do  the  nincompoop 
that  employs  them,  or  deals  with  them,  in  any  mortal  way. 
I'd  have  got  you  that  beastly  little  Bijou  for  ninety 
pounds  a  year." 

Uncle  Philip  went  away  crusty,  leaving  the  young 
couple  finely  mortified  and  discouraged. 


100  A   SIMPLETON. 

That  did  not  last  very  long.  Christopher  noted  the 
experience  and  Uncle  Phil's  wisdom  in  his  diary,  and 
then  took  his  wife  on  his  knee,  and  comforted  her,  and 
said,  "  Never  mind ;  experience  is  worth  money,  and  it 
always  has  to  be  bought.  Those  who  cheat  us  will  die 
poorer  than  we  shall,  if  we  are  honest  and  economical. 
I  have  observed  that  people  are  seldom  ruined  by  the 
vices  of  others ;  these  may  hurt  them,  of  course ;  but 
it  is  only  their  own  faults  and  follies  that  can  destroy 
them." 

"  Ah !  Christie,"  said  Kosa,  "  you  are  a  man !  Oh,  the 
comfort  of  being  married  to  a  man.  A  man  sees  the 
best  side.  I  do  adore  men.  Dearest,  I  will  waste  no 
more  of  your  money.     I  will  go  to  no  more  sales." 

Christopher  saw  she  was  deeply  mortified,  and  he  said, 
quietly,  "  On  the  contrary,  you  will  go  to  the  very  next. 
Only  take  Uncle  Philip's  advice,  employ  no  broker ;  and 
watch  the  prices  things  fetch  Avhen  you  are  not  bidding  ; 
and  keep  cool." 

She  caressed  his  ears  with  both  her  white  hands,  and 
thanked  him  for  giving  her  another  trial.  So  that 
trouble  melted  in  the  sunshine  of  conjugal  love. 

Notwithstanding  the  agent's  solemn  assurance,  the 
Bijou  was  out  of  repair.  Dr.  Staines  detected  internal 
odors,  as  well  as  those  that  flowed  in  from  the  mews. 
"He  was  not  the  man  to  let  his  wife  perish  by  miasma ; 
so  he  had  the  drains  all  up,  and  actually  found  brick 
drains,  and  a  cesspool.  He  stopped  that  up,  and  laid 
down  new  pipe  drains,  with  a  good  fall,  and  properly 
trapped.  The  old  drains  were  hidden,  after  the  manner 
of  builders.  He  had  the  whole  course  of  his  new  drains 
marked  upon  all  the  floors  they  passed  under,  and  had 
several  stones  and  boards  hinged  to  facilitate  examina- 
tion at  any  period. 

But  all  this,  with  the  necessary  cleaning,  whitewashing. 


A   SIMPLETON.  101 

painting,  and  papering,  ran  away  with  money.  Then  came 
Rosa's  purchases,  which,  to  her  amazement,  amounted  to 
one  hundred  and  ninety  pounds,  and  not  a  carpet,  curtain, 
or  bed  amongst  the  lot.  Then  there  was  the  carriage 
home  from  the  auction-room,  an  expense  one  avoids  by 
buying  at  a  shop,  and  the  broker  claimed  his  shilling  in 
the  pound.  This,  however,  Staines  refused.  The  man 
came  and  blustered.  Rosa,  who  was  there,  trembled. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  her  husband's  brow 
lower;  he  seemed  transfigured,  and  looked  terrible. 
"You  scoundrel,"  said  he,  "you  set  another  villain  like 
yourself  to  bid  against  you,  and  you  betrayed  the  inno- 
cent lady  that  employed  you.  I  could  indict  you  and 
your  confederate  for  a  conspiracy.  I  take  the  goods  out 
of  respect  for  my  wife's  credit,  but  you  shall  gain  nothing 
by  swindling  her.     Be  off,  you  heartless  miscreant,  or 

rii"  — 

"  I'll  take  the  law,  if  you  do." 

"  Take  it,  then  !  I'll  give  you  something  to  howl  for ; " 
and  he  seized  him  with  a  grasp  so  tremendous  that  the 
fellow  cried  out  in  dismay,  "  Oh  !  don't  hit  me,  sir ;  pray 
don't." 

On  this  abject  appeal,  Staines  tore  the  door  open  with 
his  left  hand,  and  spun  the  broker  out  into  the  passage 
with  his  right.  Two  movements  of  this  angry  Hercules, 
and  the  man  was  literally  whirled  out  of  sight  with  a 
rapidity  and  swiftness  almost  ludicrous ;  it  was  like  a 
trick  in  a  pantomime.  A  clatter  on  the  stairs  betrayed 
that  he  had  gone  down  the  first  few  steps  in  a  wholesale 
and  irregular  manner,  though  he  had  just  managed  to 
keep  his  feet. 

As  for  Staines,  he  stood  there  still  lowering  like  tliun- 
der,  and  his  eyes  like  hot  coals ;  but  his  wife  threw  her 
tender  arms  around  him,  and  begged  him  consolingly  not 
to  mind. 


102  A  SIMPLETON. 

She  was  trembling  like  an  aspen. 

*'  Dear  me,"  said  Christopher,  with  a  ludicrous  change 
to  marked  politeness  and  respect,  "  I  forgot  you,  in  my 
righteous  indignation."  Next  he  became  uxorious.  "  Did 
they  frighten  her,  a  duck  ?  Sit  on  my  knee,  darling,  and 
pull  my  hair,  for  not  being  more  considerate  —  there ! 
there ! " 

This  was  followed  by  the  whole  absurd  soothing  process, 
as  practised  by  manly  husbands  upon  quivering  and  some- 
what hysterical  wives,  and  ended  with  a  formal  apology. 
*'  You  must  not  think  that  I  am  passionate ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  am  always  practising  self-government.  My  maxim 
is,  Animum  rege  qui  nisi  paret  imperat,  and  that  means. 
Make  your  temper  your  servant,  or  else  it  will  be  your 
master.  But  to  ill-use  my  dear  little  wife  —  it  is  unnat- 
ural, it  is  monstrous,  it  makes  my  blood  boil." 

"  Oh,  dear !  don't  go  into  another.  It  is  all  over.  I 
can't  bear  to  see  you  in  a  passion ;  you  are  so  terrible,  so 
beautiful.  Ah !  they  are  fine  things,  courage  and  strength. 
There's  nothing  I  admire  so  much." 

"Why,  they  are  as  common  as  dirt.  What  I  admire 
is  modesty,  timidity,  sweetness ;  the  sensitive  cheek  that 
pales  or  blushes  at  a  word,  the  bosom  that  quivers,  and 
clings  to  a  fellow  whenever  anything  goes  wrong." 

"Oh,  that  is  what  you  admire,  is  it  ?  "  said  Kosa  dryly. 

"  Admire  it  ?  "  said  Christopher,  not  seeing  the  trap ; 
"  I  adore  it." 

"  Then,  Christie,  dear,  you  are  a  Simpleton,  that  is  all. 
And  we  are  made  for  one  another." 

The  house  was  to  be  furnished  and  occupied  as  soon  as 
possible ;  so  Mrs.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Cole  went  to  another 
sale-room.  Mrs.  Staines  remembered  all  Uncle  Philip  had 
said,  and  went  plainly  dressed ;  but  her  friend  declined 
to  sacrifice  her  showy  dress  to  her  friend's  interests. 
Rosa  thought  that  a  little  unkind,  but  said  nothing. 


A   SIMPLETON.  103 

In  this  auction-room  they  easily  got  a  place  at  the 
table,  but  did  not  find  it  heaven ;  for  a  number  of  second- 
hand carpets  were  in  the  sale,  and  these,  brimful  of  dust, 
were  all  shown  on  the  table,  and  the  dirt  choked  and 
poisoned  our  fair  friends.  Brokers  pestered  them,  until 
at  last  Kosa,  smarting  under  her  late  exposure,  addressed 
the  auctioneer  quietly,  in  her  silvery  tones :  "  Sir,  these 
gentlemen  are  annoying  me  by  forcing  their  services  on 
me.  I  do  not  intend  to  buy  at  all  unless  I  can  be  allowed 
to  bid  for  myself." 

When  Rosa,  blushing  and  amazed  at  her  own  boldness, 
uttered  these  words,  she  little  foresaw  their  effect.  She 
had  touched  a  popular  sore. 

"You  are  quite  right,  madam,"  said  a  respectable 
tradesman  opposite  her.  "What  business  have  these 
dirty  fellows,  without  a  shilling  in  their  pockets,  to  go 
and  force  themselves  on  a  lady  against  her  will  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  complained  of  in  the  papers  again  and 
again,"  said  another. 

"  What !  mayn't  we  live  as  well  as  you  ?  "  retorted  a 
broker. 

"Yes,  but  not  to  force  yourself  on  a  lady.  Why,  she'd 
give  you  in  charge  of  the  police  if  you  tried  it  on  out- 
side." 

Then  there  was  a  downright  clamor  of  discussion  and 
chaff. 

Presently  up  rises  very  slowly  a  countryman  so  colossal, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  have  done  getting  up, 
and  gives  his  experiences.  He  informed  the  company, 
in  a  broad  Yorkshire  dialect,  that  he  did  a  bit  in  furni- 
ture, and  at  first  starting  these  brokers  buzzed  about  him 
like  flies,  and  pestered  him.  "  Aah  damned  'em  pretty 
hard,"  said  he,  "  but  they  didn't  heed  any.  So  then  ah 
spoke  'em  civil,  and  ah  said,  '  Well,  lads,  I  dinna  come 
fra  Yorkshire  to  sit  like  a  dummy  and  let  you  buy  wi' 


104  A   SIMPLETON. 

my  brass ;  the  first  that  pesters  me  again  ah'll  just  fell 
him  on  t'  plaace,  like  a  caulf,  and  ah'm  not  very  sure 
he'll  get  up  again  in  a  hurry.'  So  they  dropped  me  like 
a  hot  potato ;  never  pestered  me  again.  But  if  they 
won't  give  over  pestering  you,  mistress,  ah'll  come  round 
and  just  stand  behind  your  chair,  and  bring  nieve  with 
me,"  showing  a  fist  like  a  leg  of  mutton. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  auctioneer,  "that  will  not  do.  I 
will  have  no  disturbance  here.     Call  the  policeman." 

While  the  clerk  went  to  the  door  for  the  bobby,  a 
gentleman  reminded  the  auctioneer  that  the  journals 
had  repeatedly  drawn  attention  to  the  nuisance. 

"  Fault  of  the  public,  not  mine,  sir.  Policeman,  stand 
behind  that  lady's  chair,  and  if  anybody  annoys  her  put 
him  quietly  into  the  street." 

"  This  auction-room  will  be  to  let  soon,"  said  a  voice 
at  the  end  of  the  table. 

"  This  auction-room,"  said  the  auctioneer,  master  of  the 
gay  or  grave  at  a  moment's  notice,  "  is  supported  by  the 
public  and  the  trade ;  it  is  not  supported  by  paupers." 

A  Jew  upholsterer  put  in  his  word.  "  I  do  my  own 
business ;  but  I  like  to  let  a  poor  man  live." 

"  Jonathan,"  said  the  auctioneer  to  one  of  his  servants, 
"  after  this  sale  you  may  put  up  the  shutters ;  we  have 
gone  and  offended  Mr.  Jacobs.  He  keeps  a  shop  in 
Blind  Alley,  Whitechapel.     Now  then,  lot  69." 

Rosa  bid  timidly  for  one  or  two  lots,  and  bought  them 
Cheap. 

The  auctioneer  kept  looking  her  way,  and  she  had  only 
to  nod. 

The  obnoxious  broker  got  opposite  her,  and  ran  her  up 
a  little  out  of  spite ;  but  as  he  had  only  got  half  a  crowy 
about  him,  and  no  means  of  doubling  it,  he  dared  not  go 
far. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  table  was  a  figure  to  which 


A  SIMPLETON.  105 

Bosa's  eyes  often  turned  Avith  interest — a  fair  young  boy 
about  twelve  years  old ;  he  had  golden  hair,  and  was  in 
deep  mourning.  His  appearance  interested  Rosa,  and  she 
wondered  how  he  came  there,  and  why ;  he  looked  like 
a  lamb  wedged  in  among  wolves,  a  flower  among  weeds. 
As  the  lots  proceeded,  the  boy  seemed  to  get  uneasy; 
and  at  last,  when  lot  73  was  put  up,  anybody  could  see 
in  his  poor  little  face  that  he  was  there  to  bid  for  it. 

"  Lot  73,  an  armchair  covered  in  morocco.  An  excel- 
lent and  useful  article.  Should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if 
it  was  made  by  Gillow." 

"  Gillow  would  though,"  said  Jacobs,  who  owed  him  a 
turn. 

Choms  of  dealers.  —  "  Haw !  haw ! " 

The  auctioneer.  —  "I  like  to  hear  some  people  run  a 
lot  down ;  shows  they  are  going  to  bid  for  it  in  earnest. 
Well,  name  your  own  price.     Five  pounds  to  begin  ?  " 

Now  if  nobody  had  spoken  the  auctioneer  would  have 
gone  on,  "Well,  four  pounds  then — three,  two,  whatever 
you  like,"  and  at  last  obtained  a  bona  fide  offer  of  thirty 
shillings ;  but  the  moment  he  said  "  Five  pounds  to 
begin,"  the  boy  in  black  lifted  up  his  childish  treble  and 
bid  thus,  "  Five  pound  ten  "  —  "six  pounds  "  —  "  six  pound 
ten "  —  " seven  pounds  "  —  " seven  pound  ten  "  —  "eight 
pounds  "  —  "  eight  pound  ten  "  —  "  nine  pounds  "  —  "  nine 
pound  ten  "  —  "  ten  pounds  ! "  without  interruption,  and 
indeed  almost  in  a  breath. 

There  w^s  a  momentary  pause  of  amazement,  and  then 
an  outburst  of  chaff. 

"  Nice  little  boy  ! " 

"  Didn't  he  say  his  lesson  well  ?  " 

"Favor  us  with  your  card,  sir.  You  are  a  gent  as 
knows  how  to  buy." 

"  What  did  he  stop  for  ?  If  it's  worth  ten,  it  is  worth 
a  hundred." 


106  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Bless  the  child ! "  said  a  female  dealer,  kindly,  "  what 
made  you  go  on  like  that  ?  Why,  there  was  no  one  bid 
against  you !  you'd  have  got  it  for  two  pounds  —  a  rickety 
old  thing." 

Young  master  began  to  whimper.  "  Why,  the  gentle- 
man said,  '  Five  pounds  to  hegin.^  It  was  the  chair  poor 
grandpapa  always  sat  in,  and  all  the  things  are  sold,  and 
mamma  said  it  would  break  her  heart  to  lose  it.  She 
was  too  ill  to  come,  so  she  sent  me.  She  told  me  I  was 
not  to  let  it  be  sold  away  from  us  for  less  than  ten 
pounds,  or  she  sh — should  be  m — m — miserable,"  and 
the  poor  little  fellow  began  to  cry.  Rosa  followed  suit 
promptly  but  unobtrusively. 

"Sentiment  always  costs  money,"  said  Mr.  Jacobs, 
gravely. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Cohen.  "  Have  you 
got  any  on  hand  ?     I  never  seen  none  at  your  shop." 

Some  tempting  things  now  came  up,  and  Mrs.  Staines 
bid  freely  ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  she  looked  down  the  table, 
and  there  was  Uncle  Philip,  twinkling  as  before.  "  Oh, 
dear !  what  am  I  doing  now  ! "  thought  she.  "  I  have  got 
no  broker." 

She  bid  on,  but  in  fear  and  trembling,  because  of  those 
twinkling  eyes.  At  last  she  mustered  courage,  wrote  on 
a  leaf  of  her  pocket-book,  and  passed  it  down  to  him : 
"  It  would  be  only  kind  to  warn  me.  What  am  I  doing 
wrong  ?  " 

He  sent  her  back  a  line  directly :  "  Auctioneer  running 
you  up  himself.  Follow  his  eye  when  he  bids ;  you  will 
see  there  is  no  bona  fide  bidder  at  your  prices." 

Rosa  did  so,  and  found  that  it  was  true. 

She  nodded  to  Uncle  Philip ;  and,  with  her  expressive 
face,  asked  him  what  she  should  do. 

The  old  boy  must  have  his  joke.  So  he  wrote  back : 
"  Tell  him,  as  you  see  he  has  a  fancy  for  certain  articles. 


A  SIMPLETON.  107 

you  would  not  be  so  discourteous  as  to  bid  against 
him." 

The  next  article  but  one  was  a  drawing-room  suite 
Eosa  wanted ;  but  the  auctioneer  bid  against  her ;  so  at 
eighteen  pounds  she  stopped. 

"  It  is  against  you,  madam,"  said  the  auctioneer. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Eosa ;  "  but  as  you  are  the  only  bidder, 
and  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  would  not  think  of 
opposing  you." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  mouth,  when  they 
were  greeted  with  a  roar  of  Homeric  laughter  that  liter- 
ally shook  the  room,  and  this  time  not  at  the  expense  of 
the  innocent  speaker. 

"  That's  into  your  mutton,  governor." 

"  Sharp's  the  word  this  time." 

"  I  say,  governor,  don't  you  want  a  broker  to  bid  for 


ye 


?" 


"  Wink  at  me  next  time,  sir ;  I'll  do  the  office  for  you." 

"  No  greenhorns  left  now." 

"  That  lady  won't  give  a  ten-pund  note  for  her  grand- 
father's armchair." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will,  if  it's  stuffed  with  banknotes." 

"Put  the  next  lot  up  with  the  owner's  name  and  the 
reserve  price.     Open  business." 

"  And  sing  a  psalm  at  starting." 

<•'  A  little  less  noise  in  Judsea,  if  you  please,"  said  the 
auctioneer,  who  had  now  recovered  from  the  blow. 
"  Lot  97." 

This  was  a  very  pretty  marqueterie  cabinet ;  it  stood 
against  the  wall,  and  Eosa  had  set  her  heart  upon  it. 
Nobody  would  bid.  She  had  muzzled  the  auctioneer 
effectually. 

''  Your  own  price." 

"Two  pounds,"  said  Eosa. 

A  dealer  offered  guineas;  and  it  advanced  slowly  to 


108  A   SIMPLETON. 

four  pounds  and  lialf  a  crown,  at  which  it  was  about  to 
be  knocked  down  to  Rosa,  when  suddenly  a  new  bidder 
arose  in  tlie  broker  Rosa  had  rejected.  They  bid  slowly 
and  sturdily  against  each  other,  until  a  line  was  given 
to  Rosa  from  Uncle  Philip. 

''This  time  it  is  your  own  friend,  the  snipe-nosed 
woman.     She  telegraphed  a  broker." 

Rosa  read,  and  crushed  the  note.  ''  Six  guineas,"  said 
she. 

"  Six-ten." 

"  Seven." 

"  Seven-ten." 
.  "Eight." 

"Eight-ten." 

"Ten  guineas,"  said  Rosa;  and  then,  with  feminine 
cunning,  stealing  a  sudden  glance,  caught  her  friend 
leaning  back  and  signalling  the  broker  not  to  give  in. 

"  Eleven  pounds." 

"Twelve." 

"Thirteen." 

"  Fourteen." 

"  Sixteen." 

"Eighteen." 

"  Twenty." 

"  Twenty  guineas." 

"It  is  yours,  my  faithful  friend,"  said  Rosa,  turning 
suddenly  round  to  Mrs.  Cole,  with  a  magnificent  glance 
no  one  would  have  thought  her  capable  of. 

Then  she  rose  and  stalked  away. 

Dumfounded  for  the  moment,  Mrs.  Cole  followed  her, 
and  stopped  her  at  the  door. 

"  Why,  Rosie  dear,  it  is  the  only  thing  I  have  bid  for. 
There  I've  sat  by  your  side  like  a  mouse." 

Rosa  turned  gravely  towards  her.  "  You  knoAv  it  is 
not  that.     You  had  only  to  tell  me  you  wanted  it.     I 


A   SIMPLETON.  100 

would  never  have  been  so  mean  as  to  bid  against 
you." 

"  Mean,  indeed ! "  said  Florence,  tossing  her  head. 

"  Yes,  mean ;  to  draw  back  and  hide  behind  the  friend 
you  were  with,  and  employ  the  very  rogue  she  had 
turned  off.  But  it  is  my  own  fault.  Cecilia  warned  me 
against  you.  She  always  said  you  were  a  treacherous 
girl." 

"  And  I  say  you  are  an  impudent  little  minx.  Only 
just  married,  and  going  about  like  two  vagabonds,  and 
talk  to  me  like  that ! " 

"We  are  not  going  about  like  two  vagabonds.  We 
have  taken  a  house  in  Mayfair." 

"  Say  a  stable." 

"  It  was  by  your  advice,  you  false-hearted  creature." 

*'  You  are  a  fool." 

''  You  are  worse ;  you  are  a  traitress." 

''  Then  don't  you  have  anything  to  do  with  me." 

"  Heaven  forbid  I  should,  you  treacherous  thing  ! " 

"  You  insolent  —  insolent  —  I  hate  you." 

"  And  I  despise  you." 

"  I  always  hated  you  at  bottom." 

"  That's  why  you  pretended  to  love  me,  you  wretch." 

"  Well,  I  pretend  no  more.     I  am  your  enemy  for  life." 

"Thank  you.  You  have  told  the  truth  for  once  in 
your  life." 

"I  have.  And  he  shall  never  call  in  your  husband; 
so  you  may  leave  Mayfair  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"Not  to  please  you,  madam.  We  can  get  on  without 
traitors." 

And  so  they  parted,  with  eyes  that  gleamed  like 
tigers. 

Rosa  drove  home  in  great  agitation,  and  tried  to  tell 
Christopher;  but  choked,  and  became  hysterical.  The 
husband-physician  coaxed  and  scolded  her  out  of  that ; 


110  A   SIMPLETON, 

and  presently  in  came  Uncle  Philip,  full  of  the  humors 
of  the  auction-room.  He  told  about  the  little  boy  with 
a  delight  that  disgusted  Mrs.  Staines,  and  then  was  par- 
ticularly merry  on  female  friendships.  ''  Fancy  a  man 
going  to  a  sale  with  his  friend,  and  bidding  against  him 
on  the  sly." 

"  She  is  no  friend  of  mine.     We  are  enemies  for  life." 

"  And  you  were  to  be  friends  till  death,"  said  Staines, 
with  a  sigh. 

Philip  inquired  who  she  was. 

"  Mrs.  John  Cole." 

"  Not  of  Curzon  Street  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  have  quarrelled  with  her  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  but  her  husband  is  a  general  practitioner.'^ 

"  She  is  a  traitress." 

"  But  her  husband  could  put  a  good  deal  of  money  in 
Christopher's  way." 

"  I  can't  help  it.     She  is  a  traitress." 

"And  you  have  quarrelled  with  her  about  an  old 
wardrobe." 

"No,  for  her  disloyalty,  and  her  base  good-for-noth- 
ingness.     Oh !  oh !  oh !  " 

Uncle  Philip  got  up,  looking  sour.  "  Good  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Christopher,"  said  he,  very  dryly. 

Christopher  accompanied  him  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Well,  Christopher,"  said  he,  "  matrimony  is  a  blunder 
at  the  best ;  and  you  have  not  done  the  thing  by  halves. 
You  have  married  a  simpleton.     She  will  be  your  ruin." 

"  Uncle  Philip,  since  you  only  come  here  to  insult  us, 
I  hope  in  future  you  will  stay  at  home." 

"  Oh  !  with  pleasure,  sir.     Good-by ! " 


A  SIMPLETON.  Ill 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Christopher  Staines  came  back,  looking  pained  and 
disturbed.  "There,"  said  he,  "I  feared  it  would  come 
to  this.     I  have  quarrelled  with  Uncle  Philip." 

"  Oh  !  how  could  you  ?  " 

"  He  affronted  me." 

"  What  about  ?  " 

"Never  you  mind.  Don't  let  us  say  anything  more 
about  it,  darling.  It  is  a  pity,  a  sad  pity — he  was  a 
good  friend  of  mine  once." 

He  paused,  entered  what  had  passed  in  his  diary,  and 
then  sat  down,  with  a  gentle  expression  of  sadness  on 
his  manly  features.  Rosa  hung  about  him,  soft  and 
pitying,  till  it  cleared  away,  at  all  events  for  the  time. 

Next  day  they  went  together  to  clear  the  goods  Rosa 
had  purchased.  Whilst  the  list  was  being  made  out  in 
the  office,  in  came  the  fair-haired  boy,  with  a  ten-pound 
note  in  his  very  hand.  Rosa  caught  sight  of  it,  and 
turned  to  the  auctioneer,  with  a  sweet,  pitying  face : 
"  Oh  !  sir,  surely  you  will  not  take  all  that  money  from 
him,  poor  child,  for  a  rickety  old  chair." 

The  auctioneer  stared  with  amazement  at  her  sim- 
plicity, and  said,  "  ^Vhat  would  the  vendors  say  to 
me?" 

She  looked  distressed,  and  said,  "Well,  then,  really 
we  ought  to  raise  a  subscription,  poor  thing  ! " 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  the  auctioneer,  "  he  isn't  hurt : 
the  article  belonged  to  his  mother  and  her  sister ;  the 
brother-in-law  isn't  on  good  terms  ;  so  he  demanded  a 
public  sale.     She  will  get  oack  four  pun  ten  out  of  it." 


112  A  SIMPLETON. 

Here   the   clerk   put   in   his  word.     "And   there's  five 
pounds  paid,  I  forgot  to  tell  you." 

"  Oh !  left  a  deposit,  did  he  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  But  the  laughing  hyena  gave  you  five 
pounds  at  the  end  of  the  sale." 

"  The  laughing  hyena,  Mr.  Jones  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  beg  pardon ;  that  is  what  we  call  him  in  the 
room.     He  has  got  such  a  curious  laugh." 

"  Oh !  I  know  the  gent.  He  is  a  retired  doctor.  I 
wish  he'd  laugh  less  and  buy  more  :  and  he  gave  you 
five  pounds  towards  the  young  gentleman's  arm-chair  ! 
Well,  I  should  as  soon  have  expected  blood  from  a  flint. 
You  have  got  five  pounds  to  pay,  sir :  so  now  the  chair 
will  cost  your  mamma  ten  shillings.  Give  him  the  order 
and  the  change,  Mr.  Jones." 

Christopher  and  Kosa  talked  this  over  in  the  room 
whilst  the  men  were  looking  out  their  purchases. 
"  Come,"  said  Kosa ;  "  now  I  forgive  him  sneering  at 
me ;  his  heart  is  not  really  hard,  you  see."  Staines,  on 
the  contrary,  was  very  angry.  "  What ! "  he  cried, 
"  pity  a  boy  who  made  one  bad  bargain,  that,  after 
all,  was  not  a  very  bad  bargain ;  and  he  had  no  kindness, 
nor  even  common  humanity,  for  my  beautiful  Rosa, 
inexperienced  as  a  child,  and  buying  for  her  husband, 
like  a  good,  affectionate,  honest  creature,  amongst  a  lot 
of  sharpers  and  hard-hearted  cynics  —  like  himself." 

"It  was  cruel  of  him,"  said  Rosa,  altering  her  mind 
in  a  moment,  and  half  inclined  to  cry. 

This  made  Christopher  furious.  "The  ill-natured, 
crotchety,  old  —  the  fact  is,  he  is  a  misogynist." 

"Oh,  the  wretch!"  said  Rosa  warmly.  "And  what 
is  that  ?  " 

"  A  woman-hater." 

•  "  Oh !  is  that  all  ?  Why,  so  do  I  —  after  that  Elorence 
Cole.  Women  are  mean,  heartless  things.  Give  me 
men;  they  are  loyal  and  true." 


A   SIMPLETON.  113 

"  All  of  them  ?  "  inquired  Christopher,  a  little  satiri- 
cally.    "  Read  the  papers." 

"  Every  soul  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  passing 
loftily  over  the  proposed  test.  "  That  is,  all  the  ones  1 
care  about ;  and  that  is  my  own,  own  one." 

Disagreeable  creatures  to  have  about  one  —  these 
simpletons ! 

Mrs.  Staines  took  Christopher  to  shops  to  buy  the 
remaining  requisites :  and  in  three  days  more  the  house 
was  furnished,  two  female  servants  engaged,  and  the 
couple  took  their  luggage  over  to  the  Bijou. 

Eosa  was  excited  and  happy  at  the  novelty  of  posses- 
sion and  authority',  and  that  close  sense  of  house  pro- 
prietorship which  belongs  to  woman.  By  dinner-time 
she  could  have  told  you  how  many  shelves  there  were 
in  every  cupboard,  and  knew  the  Bijou  by  heart  in  a 
way  that  Christopher  never  knew  it.  All  this  ended, 
as  running  about  and  excitement  generally  does,  with 
my  lady  being  exhausted,  and  lax  with  fatigue.  So 
then  he  made  her  lie  down  on  a  little  couch,  while  he 
went  through  his  accounts. 

When  he  had  examined  all  the  bills  carefully  he  looked 
very  grave,  and  said,  "  Who  would  believe  this  ?  We 
began  with  three  thousand  pounds.  It  was  to  last  us 
several  years  —  till  I  got  a  good  practice.  Eosa,  there 
is  only  fourteen  hundred  and  forty  pounds  left." 

"  Oh,  impossible  !  "  said  Eosa.  "  Oh,  dear !  why  did 
I  ever  enter  a  saleroom  ?  " 

"No,  no,  my  darling;  you  were  bitten  once  or  twice, 
but  you  made  some  good  bargains  too.  Eemember  there 
was  four  hundred  pounds  set  apart  for  my  life  policy." 

"  What  a  waste  of  money  !  " 

"  Your  father  did  not  think  so.  Then  the  lease  :  the 
premium  ;  repairs  of  the  drains  that  would  have  poisoned 
my  Eosa ;  turning  the  coach-house  into  a  dispensary  j 


114  A  SIMPLETON. 

painting,  papering,  and  furnishing ;  china,  and  linen, 
and  everything  to  buy.  We  must  look  at  this  seriously. 
Only  fourteen  hundred  and  forty  pounds  left.  A  slow 
profession.  No  friends.  I  have  quarrelled  with  Uncle 
Philip :  you  with  Mrs.  Cole ;  and  her  husband  would 
have  launched  me." 

"And  it  was  to  please  her  we  settled  here.  Oh,  I 
could  kill  her :  nasty  cat ! " 

"  Never  mind ;  it  is  not  a  case  for  despondency,  but  it 
is  for  prudence.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  look  the  thing 
in  the  face,  and  be  very  economical  in  everything.  I  had 
better  give  you  an  allowance  for  housekeeping;  and  I 
earnestly  beg  you  to  buy  things  yourself  whilst  you  are 
a  poor  man's  wife,  and  pay  ready  money  for  everything. 
My  mother  was  a  great  manager,  and  she  always  said, 
'  There  is  but  one  way :  be  your  own  market-woman,  and 
pay  on  the  spot ;  never  let  the  tradesmen  get  you  on 
their  books,  or,  what  with  false  weight,  double  charges, 
and  the  things  your  servants  order  that  never  enter  the 
house,  you  lose  more  than  a  hundred  a  year  by  cheating.' " 

Rosa  yielded  a  languid  assent  to  this  part  of  his  dis- 
course, and  it  hardly  seemed  to  enter  her  mind ;  but  she 
raised  no  objection;  and  in  due  course  he  made  her  a 
special  allowance  for  housekeeping. 

It  soon  transpired  that  medical  advice  was  to  be  had, 
gratis,  at  the  Bijou,  from  eight  till  ten :  and  there  was 
generally  a  good  attendance.  But  a  week  passed,  and 
not  one  patient  came  of  the  class  this  couple  must  live 
by.  Christopher  set  this  down  to  what  people  call  "the 
transition  period  : "  his  Kent  patients  had  lost  him ;  his 
London  patients  not  found  him.  He  wrote  to  all  his 
patients  in  the  country,  and  many  of  his  pupils  at  the 
university,  to  let  them  know  where  he  was  settled  :  and 
then  he  waited. 

Not  a  creature  came. 


A  SIMPLETON.  115 

Rosa  bore  this  very  well  for  a  time,  so  long  as  the 
house  was  a  novelty ;  but  when  that  excitement  was 
worn  out,  she  began  to  be  very  dull,  and  used  to  come 
and  entice  him  out  to  walk  with  her :  he  would  look 
wistfully  at  her,  but  object  that,  if  he  left  the  house,  he 
should  be  sure  to  lose  a  patient. 

"  Oh,  they  won't  come  any  more  for  our  staying  in  — 
tiresome  things ! "  said  Rosa. 

But  Christopher  would  kiss  her,  and  remain  firm. 
"  My  love,"  said  he,  "  you  do  not  realize  how  hard  a 
fight  there  is  before  us.  How  should  you  ?  You  are 
very  young.  No,  for  your  sake,  I  must  not  throw  a 
chance  away.  Write  to  your  female  friends  :  that  will 
while  away  an  hour  or  two." 

''What,  after  that  Florence  Cole  ?" 

"  Write  to  those  who  have  not  made  such  violent 
professions." 

"  So  I  will,  dear.  Especially  to  those  that  are  married 
and  come  to  London.  Oh,  and  I'll  write  to  that  cold- 
blooded thing,  Lady  Cicely  Treherne.  Why  do  you  shake 
your  head  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ?  I  was  not  aware.  Well,  dear,  if  ladies  of 
rank  were  to  come  here,  I  fear  they  might  make  you 
discontented  with  your  lot." 

"  All  the  women  on  earth  could  not  do  that.  How- 
ever, the  chances  are  she  will  not  come  near  me :  she 
left  the  school  quite  a  big  girl,  an  immense  girl,  when  I 
was  only  twelve.  She  used  to  smile  at  my  capriccios ; 
and  once  she  kissed  me  —  actually.  She  was  an  awful 
Sa-wny,  though,  and  so  affected :  I  think  I  will  write  to 
her." 

These  letters  brought  just  one  lady,  a  Mrs.  Turner, 
who  talked  to  Rosa  very  glibly  about  herself,  and  amused 
Rosa  twice  :  at  the  third  visit,  Rosa  tried  to  change  the 
conversation.     Mrs.  Turner  instantly  got  up,  and  went 


116  A   SIMPLETON. 

away.     She  could   not   boar   tlie   sound  of   the   human 
voice,  unless  it  was  talking  about  her  and  her  affairs. 

And  now  Staines  began  to  feel  downright  uneasy. 
Income  was  going  steadily  out :  not  a  shilling  coming 
in.  The  lame,  the  blind,  and  the  sick  frequented  his 
dispensary,  and  got  his  skill  out  of  him  gratis,  and  some- 
times a  little  physic,  a  little  wine,  and  other  things  that 
cost  him  money :  but  of  the  patients  that  pay,  not  one 
came  to  his  front  door. 

He  walked  round  and  round  his  little  yard,  like  a 
hyena  in  its  cage,  waiting,  waiting,  waiting :  and  oh ! 
how  he  envied  the  lot  of  those  who  can  hunt  for  work, 
instead  of  having  to  stay  at  home  and  wait  for  others  to 
come,  whose  will  they  cannot  influence.  His  heart  began 
to  sicken  with  hope  deferred,  and  dim  forebodings  of  the 
future  ;  and  he  saw,  with  grief,  that  his  wife  was  getting 
duller  and  duller,  and  that  her  days  dragged  more  heavily 
far  than  his  own  ;  for  he  could  study. 

At  last  his  knocker  began  to  show  signs  of  life :  his 
visitors  were  physicians.  His  lectures  on  "  Diagnosis  " 
were  well  known  to  them  ;  and  one  after  another  found 
him  out.  They  were  polite,  kind,  even  friendly ;  but 
here  it  ended  :  these  gentlemen,  of  course,  did  not  resign 
their  patients  to  him ;  and  the  inferior  class  of  practi- 
tioners avoided  his  door  like  a  pestilence. 

Mrs.  Staines,  who  had  always  lived  for  amusement, 
could  strike  out  no  fixed  occupation ;  her  time  hung  like 
lead;  the  house  ^vas  small;  and  in  small  houses  the 
faults  of  servants  run  against  the  mistress,  and  she 
can't  help  seeing  them,  and  all  the  worse  for  her.  It  is 
easier  to  keep  things  clean  in  the  country,  and  Eosa  had 
a  high  standard,  which  her  two  servants  could  never 
quite  attain.  This  annoyed  her,  and  she  began  to  scold 
a  little.  They  answered  civilly,  but  in  other  respects 
remained  imperfect  beings  ;  they  laid  out  every  shilling 


A  SEVIPLETON.  117 

they  earned  in  finery ;  and,  this,  I  am  ashamed  to  say, 
irritated  Mrs.  Staines,  who  was  wearing  out  her  wedding 
garments,  and  had  no  excuse  for  buying,  and  Staines  had 
begged  her  to  be  economical.  The  more  they  dressed, 
the  more  she  scolded ;  they  began  to  answer.  She  gave 
the  cook  warning ;  the  other,  though  not  on  good  terms 
with  the  cook,  had  a  gush  of  esprit  de  corps  directly,  and 
gave  Mrs.  Staines  warning. 

Mrs.  Staines  told  her  husband  all  this  :  he  took  her 
part,  though  without  openly  interfering;  and  they  had 
two  new  servants,  not  so  good  as  the  last. 

This  worried  Eosa  sadly ;  but  it  was  a  fl.ea-bite  to  the 
deeper  nature,  and  more  forecasting  mind  of  her  hus- 
band, still  doomed  to  pace  that  miserable  yard,  like  a 
hyena,  chafing,  seeking,  longing  for  the  patient  that 
never  came. 

Rosa  used  to  look  out  of  his  dressing-room  window, 
and  see  him  pace  the  yard.  At  first,  tears  of  pity  stood 
in  her  ej'es.  By  and  by  she  got  angry  with  the  world  ; 
and  at  last,  strange  to  say,  a  little  irritated  with  him. 
It  is  hard  for  a  weak  woman  to  keep  up  all  her  respect 
for  the  man  that  fails. 

One  day,  after  watching  him  a  long  time  unseen, 
she  got  excited,  put  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  ran 
down  to  him  :  she  took  him  by  the  arm  :  "  If  you  love 
me,  come  out  of  this  prison,  and  walk  with  me ;  we  are 
too  miserable.  I  shall  be  your  first  patient  if  this  goes 
on  much  longer."  He  looked  at  her,  saw  she  was  very 
excited,  and  had  better  be  humored ;  so  he  kissed  her  and 
just  said,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "How  poor  are  they 
that  have  not  patience  !  "  Then  he  put  on  his  hat,  and 
walked  in  the  Park  and  Kensington  Gardens  with  her. 
The  season  was  just  beginning.  There  were  carriages 
enough,  and  gay  Amazons  enough,  to  make  poor  Rosa 
sigh  more  than  once. 


118  A  SIMPLETON. 

Christopher  heard  the  sigh  ;  and  pressed  her  arm,  and 
said,  "  Courage,  love,  I  hope  to  see  you  among  them  yet." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  she,  a  little  hardly, 

"And,  meantime,  which  of  them  all  is  as  beautiful  as 
you  ?  " 

"  All  I  know  is,  they  are  more  attractive.  Wlio  looks 
at  me,  walking  tamely  by  ?  " 

Christopher  said  nothing :  but  these  words  seemed  to 
imply  a  thirst  for  admiration,  and  made  him  a  little 
uneasy. 

By  and  by  the  walk  put  the  swift-changing  Eosa  in 
spirits,  and  she  began  to  chat  gayly,  and  hung  prattling 
and  beaming  on  her  husband's  arm,  when  they  entered 
Curzon  Street.  Here,  however,  occurred  an  incident, 
trifling  in  itself,  but  unpleasant.  Dr.  Staines  saw  one  of 
his  best  Kentish  patients  get  feebly  out  of  his  carriage, 
and  call  on  Dr.  Barr.  He  started,  and  stopped.  Eosa 
asked  what  was  the  matter.  He  told  her.  She  said, 
"  We  are  unfortunate." 

Staines  said  nothing ;  he  only  quickened  his  pace ; 
but  he  was  greatly  disturbed.  She  expected  him  to 
complain  that  she  had  dragged  him  out,  and  lost  him 
that  first  chance.  But  he  said  nothing.  When  they  got 
home,  he  asked  the  servant  had  anybody  called. 

"No,  sir." 

"  Surely  you  are  mistaken,  Jane.  A  gentleman  in  a 
carriage  ! " 

"  Not  a  creature  have  been  since  you  went  out,  sir," 

"Well,  then,  dearest,"  said  he  sweetly,  "we  have 
nothing  to  reproach  ourselves  with."  Then  he  knit  his 
brow  gloomily.  "  It  is  worse  than  I  thought.  It  seems 
even  one's  country  patients  go  to  another  doctor  when 
they  visit  London.     It  is  hard.     It  is  hard." 

Eosa  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  curled  round 
him,  as  one  she  would  shield  against  the  world's  injus- 


A  SIMPLETON.  119 

tice ;  but  she  said  notliing ;  she  was  a  little  frightened 
at  his  eye  that  lowered,  and  his  noble  frame  that  trem- 
bled a  little,  with  ire  suppressed. 

Two  days  after  this,  a  brougham  drove  up  to  the  door, 
and  a  tallish,  fattish,  pasty-faced  man  got  out,  and 
inquired  for  Dr.  Staines. 

He  was  shown  into  the  dining-room,  and  told  Jane  he 
had  come  to  consult  the  doctor. 

Kosa  had  peeped  over  the  stairs,  all  curiosity ;  she 
glided  noiselessly  down,  and  with  love's  swift  foot  got 
into  the  yard  before  Jane.  "  He  is  come  !  he  is  come  ! 
Kiss  me." 

Dr.  Staines  kissed  her  first,  and  then  asked  who  was 
come. 

"Oh,  nobody  of  any  consequence.  Only  the  first 
patient.     Kiss  me  again." 

Dr.  Staines  kissed  her  again,  and  then  was  for  going 
to  the  first  patient. 

"  No,"  said  she ;  "  not  yet.  I  met  a  doctor's  wife  at 
Dr.  Mayne's,  and  she  told  me  things.  You  must  always 
keep  them  waiting ;  or  else  they  think  nothing  of  you. 
Such  a  funny  woman !  '  Treat  'em  like  dogs,  my  dear,' 
she  said.  But  I  told  her  they  wouldn't  come  to  be 
treated  like  dogs  or  any  other  animal." 

"  You  had  better  have  kept  that  to  j^ourself,  I  think." 

"  Oh !  if  you  are  going  to  be  disagreeable,  good-by. 
You  can  go  to  your  patient,  sir.  Christie,  dear,  if  he  is 
very  —  very  ill  —  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  he  is  —  oh,  how 
wicked  I  am ;  may  I  have  a  new  bonnet  ?  " 

"  If  you  really  want  one." 

On  the  patient's  card  was  "Mr.  Pettigrew,  47  Man- 
chester Square." 

As  soon  as  Staines  entered  the  room,  the  first  patient 
told  him  who  and  what  he  was,  a  retired  civilian  from 
India  j  but  he  had  got  a  son  there  still,  a  very  rising 


120  A   SIMPLETON. 

inan ;  wanted  to  be  a  parson ;  but  he  would  not  stand 
that ;  bad  profession ;  don't  rise  by  merit ;  very  hard  to 
rise  at  all ;  —  no,  India  was  the  place.  "  As  for  me,  I 
made  my  fortune  there  in  ten  years.  Obliged  to  leave 
it  now  —  invalid  this  many  years  ;  no  tone.  Tried  two 
or  three  doctors  in  this  neighborhood ;  heard  there  was 
a  new  one,  had  written  a  book  on  something.  Thought 
I  would  try  /mnJ^ 

To  stop  him,  Staines  requested  to  feel  his  pulse,  and 
examine  his  tongue  and  eye. 

"  You  are  suffering  from  indigestion,"  said  he.  "  I 
will  write  you  a  prescription ;  but  if  you  want  to  get 
well,  you  must  simplify  your  diet  very  much." 

While  he  was  Avriting  the  prescription,  off  went  this 
patient's  tongue,  and  ran  through  the  topics  of  the  day 
and  into  his  family  history  again. 

Staines  listened  politely.  He  could  afford  it,  having 
only  this  one. 

At  last,  the  first  patient,  having  delivered  an  octavo 
volume  of  nothing,  rose  to  go ;  but  it  seems  that  speak- 
ing an  "  infinite  deal  of  nothing "  exhausts  the  body, 
though  it  does  not  affect  the  mind ;  for  the  first  patient 
sank  down  in  his  chair  again.  "  I  have  excited  myself 
too  much  —  feel  rather  faint." 

Staines  saw  no  signs  of  coming  syncope  ;  he  rang  the 
bell  quietly,  and  ordered  a  decanter  of  sherry  to  be 
brought ;  the  first  patient  filled  himself  a  glass ;  then 
another;  and  went  off,  revived,  to  chatter  elsewhere. 
But  at  the  door  he  said,  "  I  had  always  a  running  account 
with  Dr.  Mivar.  I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  that 
system.     Double  fee  the  first  visit,  single  afterwards." 

Dr.  Staines  bowed  a  little  stifily ;  he  would  have  pre- 
ferred the  money.  However,  he  looked  at  the  Blue 
Book,  and  found  his  visitor  lived  at  47  Manchester 
Square  ;  so  that  removed  his  anxiety. 


A   SEVIPLETON.  121 

The  first  patient  called  every  other  day,  chattered 
nineteen  to  the  dozen,  w\as  exhausted,  drank  two  glasses 
of  sherry,  and  drove  away. 

Soon  after  this  a  second  patient  called.  This  one  was 
a*  deputy  patient  —  Collett,  a  retired  butler  —  kept  a 
lodging-house,  and  waited  at  parties  ;  he  lived  close  by, 
but  had  a  married  daughter  in  Chelsea.  Would  the 
doctor  visit  her,  and  he  would  be  responsible  ? 

Staines  paid  the  woman  a  visit  or  two,  and  treated 
her  so  effectually,  that  soon  her  visits  were  paid  to  him. 
She  was  cured,  and  Staines,  who  by  this  time  wanted  to 
see  money,  sent  to  Collett. 

Collett  did  not  answer. 

Staines  wrote  warmly. 

Collett  dead  silent. 

Staines  employed  a  solicitor. 

Collett  said  he  had  recommended  the  patient,  that  was 
all.  He  had  never  said  he  would  pay  her  debts.  That 
was  her  husband's  business. 

Now  her  husband  was  the  mate  of  a  ship ;  would  not 
be  in  England  for  eighteen  months. 

The  woman,  visited  by  lawyer's  clerk,  cried  bitterly, 
and  said  she  and  her  children  had  scarcely  enough  to  eat. 

Lawyer  advised  Staines  to  abandon  the  case,  and  pay 
him  two  pounds  fifteen  shillings  expenses.     He  did  so. 

"  This  is  damnable,"  said  he.  "  I  must  get  it  out  of 
Pettigrew ;  by-the-by,  he  has  not  been  here  this  two 
days." 

He  waited  another  day  for  Pettigrew,  and  then  wrote 
to  him.  No  answer.  Called.  Pettigrew  gone  abroad. 
House  in  Manchester  Square  to  let. 

Staines  went  to  the  house-agent  with  his  tale.  Agent 
was  impenetrable  at  first;  but,  at  last,  won  by  the 
doctor's  manner  and  his  unhappiness,  referred  him  to 
Pettigrew's  solicitor ;   the   solicitor  was   a  respectable 


122  A  SIMPLETON. 

man,  and  said  lie  would  forward  the  claim  to  Pettigrew 
in  Paris. 

But  by  this  time  Pettigrew  was  chattering  and  guz- 
zling in  Berlin  ;  and  thence  he  got  to  St.  Petersburg.  In 
that  stronghold  of  gluttony,  he  gormandized  more  than 
ever,  and,  being  unable  to  talk  it  off  his  stomach,  as  in 
other  cities,  had  apoplexy,  and  died. 

But  long  before  this  Staines  saw  his  money  was  as 
irrecoverable  as  his  sherry ;  and  he  said  to  Eosa,  "  I 
wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  live  to  curse  the  human 
race  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  said  Eosa.  "  Oh,  they  use  you 
cruelly,  my  poor,  poor  Christie  ! " 

Thus  for  months  the  young  doctor's  patients  bled  him, 
and  that  was  all. 

And  Eosa  got  more  and  more  moped  at  being  in  the 
house  so  much,  and  pestered  Christopher  to  take  her 
out,  and  he  declined:  and,  being  a  man  hard  to  beat, 
took  to  writing  on  medical  subjects,  in  hopes  of  getting 
some  money  from  the  various  medical  and  scientific  pub- 
lications ;  but  he  found  it  as  hard  to  get  the  wedge  in 
there  as  to  get  patients. 

At  last  Eosa's  remonstrances  began  to  rise  into  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  reproaches.  One  Sunday  she 
came  to  him  in  her  bonnet,  and  interrupted  his  studies, 
to  say  he  might  as  well  lay  down  the  pen,  and  talk. 
Nobody  would  publish  anything  he  wrote. 

Christopher  frowned,  but  contained  himself,  and  laid 
down  the  pen. 

"  I  might  as  well  not  be  married  at  all  as  be  a  doctor's 
wife.  You  are  never  seen  out  with  me,  not  even  to 
church.  Do  behave  like  a  Christian,  and  come  to  church 
with  me  now." 

Dr.  Staines  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  I  wouldn't  miss  church  for  all  the  world.    Any 


A   SUrPLETON.  123 

excitement  is  better  than  always  moping.  Come  over 
the  water  with  me.  The  time  Jane  and  I  went,  the 
clergyman  read  a  paper  that  Mr.  Brown  had  fallen  down 
in  a  fit.  There  was  such  a  rush  directly,  and  I'm  sure 
fifty  ladies  went  out  —  fancy,  all  Mrs.  Browns  !  Wasn't 
that  fun  ?  " 

"  Fun  ?  I  don't  see  it.  Well,  Rosa,  your  mind  is 
evidently  better  adapted  to  diversion  than  mine  is.  Go 
you  to  church,  love,  and  I'll  continue  my  studies." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is,  I  wish  I  was  back  in  my 
father's  house.  Husband  !  friend  !  companion  !  —  I  have 
none." 

Then  she  burst  out  crying  violently;  and,  being  shocked 
at  what  she  had  said,  and  at  the  agony  it  had  brought 
into  her  husband's  face,  she  went  off  into  hysterics ;  and 
as  his  heart  would  not  let  him  bellow  at  her,  or  empty  a 
bucket  on  her  as  he  would  on  another  patient,  she  had 
a  good  long  bout  of  them :  and  got  her  way,  for  she 
broke  up  his  studies  for  that  day,  at  all  events. 

Even  after  the  hysterics  were  got  under,  she  continued 
to  moan  and  sigh  very  prettily,  with  her  lovely,  languid 
head  pillowed  on  her  husband's  arm ;  in  a  word,  though 
the  hysterics  were  real,  yet  this  innocent  young  person 
had  the  presence  of  mind  to  postpone  entire  convales- 
cence, and  lay  herself  out  to  be  petted  all  day.  But 
fate  willed  it  otherwise :  while  she  was  sighing  and 
moaning,  came  to  the  door  a  scurrying  of  feet,  and  then 
a  sharp,  persistent  ringing  that  meant  something.  The 
moaner  cocked  eye  and  ear,  and  said,  in  her  every-day 
voice,  which,  coming  so  suddenly,  sounded  very  droll, 
"  What  is  that,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Jane  hurried  to  the  street-door,  and  Rosa  recovered  by 
magic;  and,  preferring  gossip  to  hysterics,  in  an  almost 
gleeful  whisper,  ordered  Christopher  to  open  the  door  of 
the  study.  The  Bijou  was  so  small  that  the  following 
dialogue  rang  in  their  ears  »—• 


124  A  SIMPLETON. 

A  boy  in  buttons  gasped  out,  "  Oh,  if  yoii  please,  will 
you  ast  the  doctor  to  come  roimd  directly ;  there's  a 
haccident." 

"  La,  bless  me  ! "  said  Jane,  and  never  budged. 

"  Yes,  miss.  It's  our  missus's  little  girl  fallen  right 
off  an  i-chair,  and  cut  her  head  dreadful,  and  smothered 
in  blood." 

"  La,  to  be  sure  !  "     And  she  waited  steadily  for  more. 

"  Ay,  and  missus  she  fainted  right  off ;  and  I've  been 
to  the  regler  doctor,  which  he's  out;  and  Sarah,  the 
housemaid,  said  I  had  better  come  here ;  you  was  only 
just  set  up,  she  said  ;  you  w^ouldn't  have  so  much  to  do, 
says  she." 

"That  is  all  she  knows,"  said  Jane.  "Why,  our 
master  —  they  pulls  him  in  pieces  which  is  to  have  him 
fust." 

"  What  an  awful  liar  !  Oh,  you  good  girl ! "  whispered 
Dr.  Staines  and  Eosa  in  one  breath. 

"  Ah,  w^ell,"  said  Buttons,  "  any  way,  Sarah  says  she 
knows  you  are  clever,  'cos  her  little  girl  as  lives  with 
l]^r  mother,  and  calls  Sarah  aunt,  has  bin  to  your  'spen- 
sary  with  ringworm,  and  you  cured  her  right  off." 

"Ay,  and  a  good  many  more,"  said  Jane,  loftily.  She 
was  a  housemaid  of  imagination ;  and  while  Staines  was 
putting  some  lint  and  an  instrument  case  into  his  pocket, 
she  proceeded  to  relate  a  number  of  miraculous  cures. 
Dr.  Staines  interrupted  them  by  suddenly  emerging,  and 
inviting  Buttons  to  take  him  to  the  house. 

Mrs.  Staines  was  so  pleased  with  Jane  for  cracking  up 
the  doctor,  that  she  gave  her  five  shillings ;  and,  after 
that,  used  to  talk  to  her  a  great  deal  more  than  to  the 
cook,  which  judicious  conduct  presently  set  all  three  by 
the  ears. 

Buttons  took  the  doctor  to  a  fine  house  in  the  same 
street,  and  told  him  his  mistress's  name  on  the  way  — 


I 


A   SIMPLETON.  125 

Mrs.  Lucas.  He  was  taken  up  to  the  nursery,  and  found 
Mrs.  Lucas  seated,  crying  and  lamenting,  and  a  woman 
holding  a  little  girl  of  about  seven,  whose  brow  had  been 
cut  open  by  the  fender,  on  which  she  had  fallen  from  a 
chair  ;  it  looked  very  ugly,  and  was  even  now  bleeding. 

Dr.  Staines  lost  no  time;  he  examined  the  wound 
keenly,  and  then  said  kindly  to  Mrs.  Lucas,  "  I  am  happy 
to  tell  yoif  it  is  not  serious."  He  then  asked  for  a  large 
basin  and  some  tepid  water,  and  bathed  it  so  softly  and 
soothingly  that  the  child  soon  became  composed;  and 
the  mother  discovered  the  artist  at  once.  He  compressed 
the  wound,  and  explained  to  Mrs.  Lucas  that  the  princi- 
pal thing  really  was  to  avoid  an  ugly  scar.  "  There  is 
no  danger,"  said  he.  He  then  bound  the  wound  neatly 
up,  and  had  the  girl  put  to  bed.  "  You  will  not  wake 
her  at  any  particular  hour,  nurse.  Let  her  sleep.  Have 
a  little  strong  beef-tea  ready,  and  give  it  her  at  any  hour, 
night  or  day,  she  asks  for  it.  But  do  not  force  it  on  her, 
or  you  will  do  her  more  harm  than  good.  She  had  better 
sleep  before  she  eats." 

Mrs.  Lucas  begged  him  to  come  every  morning ;  and, 
as  he  was  going,  she  shook  hands  with  him,  and  the  soft 
palm  deposited  a  hard  substance  wrapped  in  paper.  He 
took  it  with  professional  gravity  and  seeming  uncon- 
sciousness ;  but,  once  outside  the  house,  went  home  on 
wings.  He  ran  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  found  his 
wife  seated,  and  playing  at  reading.  He  threw  himself 
on  his  knees,  and  the  fee  into  her  lap  ;  and,  while  she 
unfolded  the  paper  with  an  ejaculation  of  pleasure,  he 
said,  "  Darling,  the  first  real  patient  —  the  first  real  fee. 
It  is  yours  to  buy  the  new  bonnet." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  ! "  said  she,  with  her  eyes  glistening. 
"  But  I'm  afraid  one  can't  get  a  bonnet  fit  to  wear  —  toi 
a  guinea." 

Dr.  Staines  visited  his  little  patient  every  day,  and 


126  A  SIMPLETON. 

received  his  guinea.  Mrs.  Lucas  also  called  him  in  for 
her  own  little  ailments,  and  they  were  the  best  possible 
kind  of  ailments :  for,  being  imaginary,  there  was  no 
limit  to  them. 

Then  did  Mrs.  Staines  turn  jealous  of  her  husband. 
"  They  never  ask  me,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  am  moped  to 
death." 

"It  is  hard,"  said  Christopher,  sadly.  "But  have  a 
little  patience.  Society  will  come  to  you  long  before 
practice  comes  to  me." 

About  two  o'clock  one  afternoon  a  carriage  and  pair 
drove  up,  and  a  gorgeous  footman  delivered  a  card  — 
"  Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

Of  course  Mrs.  Staines  was  at  home,  and  only  with- 
held by  propriety  from  bounding  into  the  passage  to 
meet  her  school-fellow.  However,  she  composed  herself 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  presently  the  door  was  opened, 
and  a  very  tall  young  woman,  richly  but  not  gayly 
dressed,  drifted  into  the  room,  and  stood  there  a  statue 
of  composure. 

Kosa  had  risen  to  ily  to  her ;  but  the  reverence  a  girl 
of  eighteen  strikes  into  a  child  of  twelve  hung  about  her 
still,  and  she  came  timidly  forward,  blushing  and  spark- 
ling, a  curious  contrast  in  color  and  mind  to  her  visitor ; 
for  Lady  Cicely  was  Languor  in  person  —  her  hair  whitey- 
brown,  her  face  a  fine  oval,  but  almost  colorless ;  her  eyes 
a  pale  gray,  her  neck  and  hands  incomparably  white  and 
beautiful  —  a  lymphatic  young  lady,  a  live  antidote  to 
emotion.  However,  Rosa's  beauty,  timidity,  and  undis- 
guised affectionateness  were  something  so  different  from 
what  she  was  used  to  in  the  world  of  fashion,  that  she 
actually  smiled,  and  held  out  both  her  hands  a  little  way. 
Rosa  seized  them,  and  pressed  them  ;  they  left  her,  and 
remained  passive  and  limp. 

"0  Lady  Cicely,"  said  Rosa,  "how  kind  of  you  to 
come." 


A   SIMPLETON.  127 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  send  to  me,"  was  the  polite,  but 
perfectly  cool  reply.  "  But  how  you  are  gwown,  and  — 
may  I  say  impwoved  ?  —  You  la  petite  Lusignan  !  It  is 
iucwedible,"  lisped  her  ladyship,  very  calmly. 

"I  was  only  a  child,"  said  Rosa.  "You  were  always 
so  beautiful  and  tall,  and  kind  to  a  little  monkey  like  me. 
Oh,  pray  sit  down,  Lady  Cicely,  and  talk  of  old  times." 

She  drew  her  gently  to  the  sofa,  and  they  sat  down 
hand  in  hand ;  but  Lady  Cicely's  high-bred  reserve  made 
her  a  very  poor  gossip  about  anything  that  touched  her- 
self and  her  family;  so  Eosa,  though  no  egotist,  was 
drawn  into  talking  about  herself  more  than  she  would 
have  done  had  she  deliberately  planned  the  conversation. 
But  here  was  an  old  school-fellow,  and  a  singularly  polite 
listener,  and  so  out  came  her  love,  her  genuine  happi- 
ness, her  particular  griefs,  and  especially  the  crowning 
grievance,  no  society,  moped  to  death,  etc. 

Lady  Cicely  could  hardly  understand  the  sentiment  in 
a  woman  who  so  evidently  loved  her  husband.  "  So- 
ciety ! "  said  she,  after  due  reflection,  "  why,  it  is  a  boa." 
(And  here  I  may  as  well  explain  that  Lady  Cicely  spoke 
certain  words  falsely,  and  others  affectedly ;  and  as  for 
the  letter  r,  she  could  say  it  if  she  made  a  hearty  effort, 
but  was  generally  too  lazy  to  throw  her  leg  over  it.) 
"  Society !  I'm  dwenched  to  death  with  it.  If  I  could 
only  catch  fiah  like  other  women,  and  love  somebody,  I 
would  much  rather  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  him  than  go 
teawing  about  all  day  and  all  night,  from  one  unintwist- 
ing  cwowd  to  another.  To  be  sure,"  said  she,  puzzling 
the  matter  out,  "you  are  a  beauty,  and  would  be  more 
looked  at." 

"  The  idea !  and  —  oh  no  !  no  !  it  is  not  that.  But 
even  in  the  country  we  had  always  some  society." 

"Well,  dyar,  believe  me,  with  your  appeawance,  you 
can  have  as  much  society  as  you  please ;  but  it  will  boa 


128  A   SIMPLETON. 

you  to  death,  as  it  does  me,  and  then  you  will  long  to  be 
left  quiet  with  a  sensible  man  who  loves  you." 

Said  Kosa,  "  When  shall  I  have  another  tete-a-tete  with 
xjou,  I  wonder  ?  Oh,  it  has  been  such  a  comfort  to  me. 
Bless  you  for  coming.  There  —  1  wrote  to  Cecilia,  and 
Emily,  and  Mrs.  Bosanquet  that  is  now,  and  all  my 
sworn  friends,  and  to  think  of  you  being  the  one  to 
come  —  you  that  never  kissed  me  but  once,  and  an  earl's 
daughter  into  the  bargain." 

•'  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  —  Lady  Cicely  actually  laughed  for 
once  in  a  "vvay,  and  did  not  feel  the  effort.  "  As  for  kiss- 
ing," said  she,  '•  if  I  fall  shawt,  f awgive  me.  I  was  nevaa 
vewy  demonstwative." 

"  No ;  and  I  have  had  a  lesson.  That  Florence  Cole 
—  Florence  Whiting  that  was,  you  know  —  was  always 
kissing  me,  and  she  has  turned  out  a  traitor.  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  her."     And  she  did. 

Lady  Cicely  thought  Mrs.  Staines  a  little  too  unre- 
served in  her  conversation ;  but  was  so  charmed  with  her 
sweetness  and  freshness  that  she  kept  up  the  acquaint- 
ance, and  called  on  her  twice  a  week  during  the  season. 
At  first  she  wondered  that  her  visits  were  not  returned  ; 
but  Eosa  let  out  that  she  was  ashamed  to  call  on  foot  in 
Grosvenor  Square. 

Lady  Cicely  shrugged  her  beautiful  shoulders  a  little  at 
that ;  but  she  continued  to  do  the  visiting,  and  to  enjoy  the 
simple,  innoceiit  rapture  with  which  she  was  received. 

This  lady's  pronunciation  of  many  words  was  false  or 
affected.  She  said  ''  good  murning  "  for  "  good  morning," 
and  turned  other  vowels  to  diphthongs,  and  played  two 
or  three  pranks  with  her  "r's."  But  we  cannot  be  all 
imperfection :  with  her  pronunciation  her  folly  came  to 
a  full  stop.  I  really  believe  she  lisped  less  nonsense  and 
bad  taste  in  a  year  than  some  of  us  articulate  in  a  day. 
To  be  sure,  folly  is  generally  uttered  in  a  hurry,  and  she 


A   SEVrPLETON.  129 

was  too  deplorably  lazy  to  speak  fast  on  any  occasion 
whatever. 

One  day  Mrs.  Staines  took  her  up-stairs,  and  showed 
her  from  the  back  window  her  husband  pacing  the  yard, 
waiting  for  patients.  Lady  Cicely  folded  her  arms,  and 
contemplated  him  at  first  with  a  sort  of  zoological  curi- 
osity. Gentleman  pacing  back  yard,  like  hyena,  she  had 
never  seen  before. 

At  last  she  opened  her  mouth  in  a  whisper,  "  'What  is 
he  doing  ?  " 

"  Waiting  for  patients." 

"  Oh !     Waiting  —  for — patients  ?  " 

"  For  patients  that  never  come,  and  never  will  come." 

"  Cuwious  !     How  little  I  know  of  life." 

"  It  is  that  all  day,  dear,  or  else  writing." 

Lady  Cicely,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  Staines,  made  a 
motion  with  her  hand  that  she  was  attending. 

"  And  they  won't  publish  a  word  he  writes." 

"  Poor  man  ! " 

"  Nice  for  me  ;  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  said  Lady  Cicely  quietly ; 
and  soon  after  retired  with  her  invariable  composure. 

Meantime,  Dr.  Staines,  like  a  good  husband,  had 
thrown  out  occasional  hints  to  Mrs.  Lucas  that  he  had  a 
wife,  beautiful,  accomplished,  moped.  More  than  that, 
he  went  so  far  as  to  regret  to  her  that  Mrs.  Staines, 
being  in  a  neighborhood  new  to  him,  saw  so  little  so- 
ciety ;  the  more  so,  as  she  was  formed  to  shine,  and  had 
not  been  used  to  seclusion. 

All  these  hints  fell  dead  on  INIrs.  Lucas.  A  handsome 
and  skilful  doctor  was  welcome  to  her :  his  wife  —  that 
was  quite  another  matter. 

But  one  day  Mrs.  Lucas  saw  Lady  Cicely  Treherne's 
carriage  standing  at  the  door.  The  style  of  the  whole 
turnout  impressed  her.     She  wondered  whose  it  was. 


130  A   SIMPLETON. 

On  another  occasion  she  saw  it  drive  up,  and  the  lady 
get  out.  She  recognized  her;  and  the  very  next  day 
this  parvenue  said  adroitly,  "Now,  Dr.  Staines,  really 
you  can't  be  allowed  to  hide  your  wife  in  this  way. 
(Staines  stared.)  Why  not  introduce  her  to  me  next 
Wednesday  ?  It  is  ray  night.  I  would  give  a  dinner 
expressly  for  her ;  but  I  don't  like  to  do  that  while  my 
husband  is  in  Naples." 

When  Staines  carried  the  invitation  to  his  wife,  she 
was  delighted,  and  kissed  him  with  childish  frankness. 

But  the  very  next  moment  she  became  thoughtful, 
uneasy,  depressed.     "Oh,  dear;  I've  nothing  to  wear," 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Rosa.     Your  wedding  outfit." 

"The  idea!  I  can't  go  as  a  bride.  It's  not  a  mas- 
querade." 

"But  you  have  other  dresses." 

"  All  gone  by,  more  or  less ;  or  not  fit  for  such  parties 
as  she  gives.     A  hundred  carriages  ! " 

"  Bring  them  down,  and  let  me  see  them." 

"  Oh  yes."  And  the  lady,  who  had  nothing  to  wear, 
paraded  a  very  fair  show  of  dresses. 

Staines  saw  something  to  admire  in  all  of  them.  Mrs. 
Staines  found  more  to  object  to  in  each. 

At  last  he  fell  upon  a  silver-gray  silk,  of  superlative 
quality.  . 

"  That !     It  is  as  old  as  the  hills,"  shrieked  Rosa. 

"  It  looks  just  out  of  the  shop.  Come,  tell  the  truth ; 
how  often  have  you  worn  it  ?  " 

"  I  wore  it  before  I  was  married." 

"  Ay,  but  how  often  ?  " 

"  Twice.     Three  times,  I  believe." 

"  I  thought  so.     It  is  good  as  new." 

"  But  I  have  had  it  so  long  by  me.  I  had  it  two  years 
before  I  made  it  up." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?    Do  you  think  the  people 


A  SIMPLETON.  131 

can  tell  how  long  a  dress  lias  been  lurking  in  your  ward- 
robe ?  This  is  childish,  Rosa.  There,  with  this  dress 
as  good  as  new,  and  your  beauty,  you  will  be  as  much 
admired,  and  perhaps  hated,  as  your  heart  can  desire." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Rosa  naively.  "Oh,  how  I 
wish  I  had  known  a  week  ago." 

"  I  am  very  thankful  you  did  not,"  said  Staines  dryly. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Staines  was  nearly  dressed ;  at  a 
quarter  past  ten  she  demanded  ten  minutes;  at  half- 
past  ten  she  sought  a  reprieve ;  at  a  quarter  to  eleven, 
being  assured  that  the  street  was  full  of  carriages,  which 
had  put  down  at  Mrs.  Lucas's,  she  consented  to  emerge  ; 
and  in  a  minute  they  were  at  the  house. 

They  were  shown  first  into  a  cloak-room,  and  then  into 
a  tea-room,  and  then  mounted  the  stairs.  One  servant 
took  their  names,  and  bawled  them  to  another  four  yards 
off,  he  to  another  about  as  near,  and  so  on;  and  they 
edged  themselves  into  the  room,  not  yet  too  crowded  to 
move  in. 

They  had  not  taken  many  steps,  on  the  chance  of  find- 
ing their  hostess,  when  a  slight  buzz  arose,  and  seemed 
to  follow  them. 

Rosa  wondered  what  that  was  ;  but  only  for  a  moment ; 
she  observed  a  tall,  stout,  aquiline  woman  fix  an  eye  of 
bitter,  diabolical,  malignant  hatred  on  her ;  and  as  she  ad- 
vanced, ugly  noses  were  cocked  disdainfully,  and  scraggy 
shoulders  elevated  at  the  risk  of  sending  the  bones 
through  the  leather,  and  a  titter  or  two  shot  after  her. 
A  woman's  instinct  gave  her  the  key  at  once ;  the  sexes 
had  complimented  her  at  sight ;  each  in  their  way ;  the 
men  with  respectful  admiration ;  the  women,  with  their 
inflammable  jealousy  and  ready  hatred  in  another  of  the 
quality  they  value  most  in  themselves.  But  the  country 
girl  was  too  many  for  them  :  she  would  neither  see  nor 
hear,  but  moved  sedately  on,  and  calmly  crushed  them 


132  A   SIMPLETON. 

with  her  Southern  beauty.  Their  dry,  powdered  faces 
coukl  not  live  by  the  side  of  her  glowing  skin,  with 
nature's  delicate  gloss  upon  it,  and  the  rich  blood  man- 
tling below  it.  The  got-up  beauties,  i.e.,  the  majority, 
seemed  literally  to  fade  and  wither  as  she  passed. 

Mrs.  Lucas  got  to  her,  suppressed  a  slight  maternal 
pang,  having  daughters  to  marry,  and  took  her  line  in  a 
moment ;  here  was  a  decoy  duck.  Mrs.  Lucas  was  all 
graciousness,  made  acquaintance,  and  took  a  little  turn 
with  her,  introducing  her  to  one  or  two  persons ;  among 
the  rest,  to  the  malignant  woman,  Mrs.  Barr.  Mrs. 
Barr,  on  this,  ceased  to  look  daggers  and  substituted 
icicles  ;  but  on  the  hateful  beauty  moving  away,  dropped 
the  icicles,  and  resumed  the  poniards. 

The  rooms  filled ;  the  heat  became  oppressive,  and  the 
mixed  odors  of  flowers,  scents,  and  persj^iring  humanity, 
sickening.  Some,  unable  to  bear  it,  trickled  out  of  the 
room,  and  sat  all  do^vn  the  stairs. 

Eosa  began  to  feel  faint.  Up  came  a  tall,  sprightly 
girl,  whose  pertness  was  redeemed  by  a  certain  bonhomie, 
and  said,  "  Mrs.  Staines,  I  believe  ?  I  am  to  make  my- 
self agreeable  to  you.  That  is  the  order  from  head- 
quarters." 

"  Miss  Lucas,"  said  Staines. 

She  jerked  a  little  off-hand  bow  to  him,  and  said, 
"  Will  you  trust  her  to  me  for  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  Certainly."     But  he  did  not  much  like  it. 

Miss  Lucas  carried  her  off,  and  told  Dr.  Staines,  over 
her  shoulder,  now  he  could  flirt  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  dryly.    "  I'll  await  your  return." 

"  Oh,  there  are  some  much  greater  flirts  here  than  I 
am,"  said  the  ready  Miss  Lucas ;  and  whispering  some- 
thing in  Mrs.  Staines's  ear,  suddenly  glided  with  her 
behind  a  curtain,  pressed  a  sort  of  button  fixed  to  a 
looking-glass  door.      The  door  opened,  and  behold  they 


A   SIlVrPLETON.  133 

were  in  a  delicious  place,  for  which  I  can  hardly  find  a 
word,  since  it  was  a  boudoir  and  a  conservatory  in  one  : 
a  large  octagon,  the  walls  lined  from  floor  to  ceiling  with 
looking-glasses  of  moderate  width,  at  intervals,  and  with 
creepers  that  covered  the  intervening  spaces  of  the  wall, 
and  were  trained  so  as  to  break  the  outline  of  the  glasses 
without  greatly  clouding  the  reflection.  Ferns,  in  great 
variety,  were  grouped  in  a  deep  crescent,  and  in  the 
bight  of  this  green  bay  were  a  small  table  and  chairs. 
As  there  were  no  hot-house  plants,  the  temperature  was 
very  cool,  compared  with  the  reeking  oven  they  had 
escaped;  and  a  little  fountain  bubbled,  and  fed  a  little 
meandering  gutter  that  trickled  away  among  the  ferns ; 
it  ran  crystal  clear  over  little  bright  pebbles  and  shells. 
It  did  not  always  run,  you  understand ;  but  Miss  Lucas 
turned  a  secret  tap,  and  started  it. 

"  Oh,  how  heavenly  ! "  said  Rosa,  with  a  sigh  of  relief ; 
"  and  how  good  of  you  to  bring  me  here  ! " 

"  Yes ;  by  rights  I  ought  to  have  waited  till  you 
fainted.  But  there  is  no  making  acquaintance  among 
all  those  people.  Mamma  will  ask  such  crowds ;  one  is 
like  a  fly  in  a  glue-pot." 

Miss  Lucas  had  good  nature,  smartness,  and  animal 
spirits ;  hence  arose  a  vivacity  and  fluency  that  Avere 
often  amusing,  and  passed  for  very  clever.  Reserve  she 
had  none ;  would  talk  about  strangers,  or  friends,  herself, 
her  mother,  her  God,  and  the  last  buffoon-singer,  in  a 
breath.  At  a  hint  from  Rosa,  she  told  her  who  the  lady 
in  the  pink  dress  was,  and  the  lady  in  the  violet  velvet, 
and  so  on ;  for  each  lady  was  defined  by  her  dress,  and, 
more  or  less,  quizzed  by  this  show-woman,  not  exactly 
out  of  malice,  but  because  it  is  smarter  and  more  natural 
to  decry  than  to  praise,  and  a  little  medisance  is  the 
spice  to  gossip,  belongs  to  it,  as  mint  sauce  to  lamb.  So 
they  chatted  away,  and  were  pleased  with  each  other, 


134  A   SIMPLETON. 

and  made  friends,  and  there,  in  eool  grot,  quite  forgot 
the  sufferings  of  tlieir  fellow-creatures  in  the  adjacent 
Turkish  bath,  yclept  society.  It  was  Rosa  who  first 
recollected  herself.  "Will  not  Mrs.  Lucas  be  angry 
with  me,  if  I  keep  you  all  to  myself  ?  " 

"  Oh  no ;  but  I'm  afraid  we  must  go  into  the  hot-house 
again.  I  like  the  greenhouse  best,  with  such  a  nice 
companion." 

They  slipped  noiselessly  into  the  throng  again,  and 
wriggled  about,  Miss  Lucas  presenting  her  new  friend  to 
several  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

Presently  Staines  found  them,  and  then  Miss  Lucas 
wriggled  away ;  and  in  due  course  the  room  was  thinned 
by  many  guests  driving  off  home,  or  to  balls,  and  other 
receptions,  and  Dr.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Staines  went  home 
to  the  Bijou.  Here  the  physician  prescribed  bed;  but 
the  lady  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing  until  she  had 
talked  it  all  over.  So  they  compared  notes,  and  Rosa 
told  him  how  well  she  had  got  on  with  Miss  Lucas,  and 
made  a  friendshij).  "  But  for  that/'  said  she,  "  I  should 
be  sorry  I  went  among  those  people,  such  a  dowdy." 

"  Dowdy  ! "  said  Staines.  "  Why,  you  stormed  the 
town ;  you  were  the  great  success  of  the  night,  and,  for 
all  I  know,  of  the  season."  The  wretch  delivered  this 
with  unbecoming  indifference. 

"It  is  too  bad  to  mock  me,  Christie.  Where  were 
your  eyes  ?  " 

"To  the  best  of  my  recollection,  they  were  one  on 
each  side  of  my  nose." 

"  Yes,  but  some  people  are  eyes  and  no  eyes." 

"I  scorn  the  imputation;  try  me." 

"  Very  well.  Then  did  you  see  that  lady  in  sky-blue 
silk,  embroidered  with  flowers,  and  flounced  with  white 
velvet,  and  the  corsage  point  lace ;  and  oh,  such  em- 
eralds ?  " 


A   SIMPLETON.  135 

"I  did;  a  tall,  skinny  woman,  with  eyes  resembling 
her  jewels  in  color,  though  not  in  brightness." 

"  Never  mind  her  eyes ;  it  is  her  dress  I  am  speak- 
ing of.  Exquisite ;  and  what  a  coiffure !  Well,  did 
you  see  her  in  the  black  velvet,  trimmed  so  deep  with 
Chantilly  lace,  wave  on  wave,  and  her  head-dress  of  crim- 
son flowers,  and  such  a  riviere  of  diamonds  ;  oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear  ! " 

"I  did,  love.  The  room  was  an  oven,  but  her  rubi- 
cund face  and  suffocating  costume  made  it  seem  a 
furnace." 

''  Stuff !  Well,  did  you  see  the  lady  in  the  corn-colored 
silk,  and  poppies  in  her  hair  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  did.  Ceres  in  person.  She  made  me 
feel  hot,  too ;  but  I  cooled  myself  a  bit  at  her  pale, 
sickly  face." 

"  Never  mind  their  faces  ;  that  is  not  the  point." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me ;  it  is  always  a  point  with  us  benighted 
males,  all  eyes  and  no  eyes." 

"Well,  then,  the  lady  in  white,  with  cherry-velvet 
bands,  and  a  white  tunic  looped  with  crimson,  and  head- 
dress of  white  illusion,  a  la  vierge,  I  think  they  call  it." 

"It  was  very  refreshing;  and  adapted  to  that  awful 
atmosphere.  It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  nudity  I 
ever  saw,  even  amongst  fashionable  people." 

"  It  was  lovely  ;  and  then  that  superb  figure  in  white 
illusion  and  gold,  with  all  those  narrow  flounces  over  her 
slip  of  white  silk  glacee,  and  a  wreath  of  white  flowers, 
with  gold  wheat  ears  amongst  them,  in  her  hair  ;  and  oh  ! 
oh  !  oh  !  her  pearls,  oriental,  and  as  big  as  almonds  !  " 

"And  oh!  oh!  oh!  her  nose  I  reddish,  and  as  long  as 
a  woodcock's." 

"Noses!  noses!  stupid!  That  is  not  what  strikes 
you  first  in  a  woman  dressed  like  an  angel." 

"Well,  if  you  were  to  run  up  against  that  one,  as  I 


136  A   SIMPLETON. 

nearly  did,  her  nose  would  be  the  thing  that  would  strike 
you  first.  Nose  !  it  was  a  rostrum !  the  spear-head  of 
Goliah." 

''Now,  don't,  Christopher.  This  is  no  laughing  mat- 
ter. Do  you  mean  you  were  not  ashamed  of  your  wife  ? 
I  was." 

"  No,  I  was  not ;  you  had  but  one  rival ;  a  very  young 
lady,  wise  before  her  age ;  a  blonde,  with  violet  eyes. 
She  was  dressed  in  light  mauve-colored  silk,  Avithout  a 
single  flounce,  or  any  other  tomfoolery  to  fritter  away 
the  sheen  and  color  of  an  exquisite  material ;  her  sunny 
hair  was  another  wave  of  color,  wreathed  with  a  thin 
line  of  white  jessamine  flowers  closely  woven,  that 
scented  the  air.  This  girl  was  the  moon  of  that  assem- 
bly, and  you  were  the  sun." 

''  I  never  even  saw  her." 

''Eyes  and  no  eyes.  She  saw  you,  and  said,  'Oh, 
what  a  beautiful  creature  ! '  for  I  heard  her.  As  for  the 
qW  stagers,  whom  you  admire  so,  their  faces  were  all 
clogged  with  powder,  the  pores  stopped  up,  the  true 
texture  of  the  skin  abolished.  They  looked  downright 
nanty,  whenever  you  or  that  young  girl  passed  by  them. 
Then  it  was  you  saw  to  what  a  frightful  extent  women 
are  got  up  in  ovir  day,  even  young  women,  and  respect- 
able women.  No,  Eosa,  dress  can  do  little  for  you ;  you 
have  beauty  —  real  beauty." 

"  Beauty  !  That  passes  unnoticed,  unless  one  is  well 
dressed." 

"  Then  what  an  obscure  pair  the  Apollo  Belvidere  and 
the  Venus  de  Medicis  must  be." 

"  Oh  !  they  are  dressed  —  in  marble." 

Christopher  Staines  stared  first,  then  smiled. 

"  Well  done,"  said  he,  admiringly.  "  That  is  a  knock- 
down blow.  So  now  you  have  silenced  your  husband, 
go  you  to  bed  directly.     I  can't  afford  you  diamonds  ;  so 


A   SIMPLETON.  137 

I  will  take  care  of  that  little  insignificant  trifle,  your 
beauty." 

Mrs.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Lucas  exchanged  calls,  and 
soon  Mrs.  Staines  could  no  longer  complain  she  was  out 
of  the  world.  Mrs.  Lucas  invited  her  to  every  party, 
because  her  beauty  was  an  instrument  of  attraction  she 
knew  how  to  use  ;  and  Miss  Lucas  took  a  downright 
fancy  to  her ;  drove  her  in  the  park,  and  on  Sundays  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens,  just  beginning  to  be  fashionable. 

The  Lucases  rented  a  box  at  the  opera,  and  if  it  was 
not  let  at  the  library  by  six  o'clock,  and  if  other  engage- 
ments permitted,  word  was  sent  round  to  Mrs.  Staines, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  and  she  was  taken  to  the  opera. 
She  began  almost  to  live  at  the  Lucases,  and  to  be 
oftener  fatigued  than  moped. 

The  usual  order  of  things  was  inverted ;  the  maiden 
lady  educated  the  matron;  for  Miss  Lucas  knew  all 
about  everybody  in  the  Park,  honorable  or  dishonorable ; 
all  the  scandals,  and  all  the  flirtations ;  and  whatever 
she  knew,  she  related  point-blank.  Being  as  inquisitive 
as  voluble,  she  soon  learned  how  Mrs.  Staines  and  her 
husband  were  situated.  She  took  upon  her  to  advise  her 
in  many  things,  and  especially  impressed  upon  her  that 
Dr.  Staines  must  keep  a  carriage,  if  he  wanted  to  get  on 
in  medicine.  The  piece  of  advice  accorded  so  well  with 
Rosa's  wishes,  that  she  urged  it  on  her  husband  again 
and  again. 

He  objected  that  no  money  was  coming  in,  and  there- 
fore it  would  be  insane  to  add  to  their  expenses.  Eosa 
persisted,  and  at  last  worried  Staines  with  her  impor- 
tunity. He  began  to  give  rather  short  answers.  Then 
she  quoted  Miss  Lucas  against  him.  He  treated  the 
authority  with  marked  contempt;  and  then  Rosa  fired 
up  a  little.  Then  Staines  held  his  peace ;  but  did  not 
buy  a  carriage  to  visit  his  no  patients. 


138  A   SIMPLETON. 

So  at  last  Rosa  complained  to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne, 
and  made  lier  the  judge  between  her  liusband  and  herself. 
Lady  Cicely  drawled  oiit  a  prompt  but  polite  refusal  to 
play  that  part.  All  that  could  be  elicited  from  her,  and 
that  with  difficulty,  was,  "  Why  quail  with  your  husband 
about  a  cawwige  ;  he  is  your  best  fwiend." 

"Ah,  that  he  is,"  said  Rosa;  "but  Miss  Lucas  is  a 
good  friend,  and  she  knows  the  world.  We  don't ;  neither 
Christopher  nor  I." 

So  she  continued  to  nag  at  her  husband  about  it,  and 
to  say  that  he  was  throwing  his  only  chance  away. 

Galled  as  he  was  by  neglect,  this  was  irritating,  and 
at  last  he  could  not  help  telling  her  she  was  unreason- 
able. "  You  live  a  gay  life,  and  I  a  sad  one.  I  consent 
to  this,  and  let  you  go  about  with  these  Lucases,  because 
you  were  so  dull ;  but  you  should  not  consult  them  in 
our  private  affairs.  Their  interference  is  indelicate  and 
improper.  I  will  not  set  up  a  carriage  till  I  have 
patients  to  visit.  I  am  sick  of  seeing  our  capital 
dwindle,  and  no  income  created.  I  will  never  set  up  a 
carriage  till  I  have  taken  a  hundred-guinea  fee." 

"  Oh !  Then  we  shall  go  splashing  through  the  mud 
all  our  days." 

"  Or  ride  in  a  cab,"  said  Christopher,  with  a  quiet 
doggedness  that  left  no  hope  of  his  yielding. 

One  afternoon  Miss  Lucas  called  for  Mrs.  Staines  to 
drive  in  the  Park,  but  did  not  come  up-stairs ;  it  was  an 
engagement,  and  she  knew  Mrs.  Staines  would  be  ready, 
or  nearly.  Mrs.  Staines,  not  to  keep  her  waiting,  came 
down  rather  hastily,  and  in  the  very  passage  whipped 
out  of  her  pocket  a  little  glass,  and  a  little  powder  puff, 
and  puffed  her  face  all  over  in  a  trice.  She  Avas  then 
going  out;  but  her  husband  called  her  into  the  study. 
"  Rosa,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  you  were  going  out  with  a 
dirty  face." 


A   SIMPLETON.  139 

''  Oh  ! "  cried  she,  "  give  me  a  glass." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that.  All  you  want  is  a  basin 
and  some  nice  rain-water.  I  keep  a  little  reservoir 
of  it." 

He  then  handed  her  the  same  with  great  politeness. 
She  looked  in  his  eye,  and  saw  he  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  She  complied  like  a  lamb,  and  the  heavenly  color 
and  velvet  gloss  that  resulted  were  admirable. 

He  kissed  her  and  said,  "  Ah  !  now  you  are  my  Rosa 
again.  Oblige  me  by  handing  over  that  powder-puff  to 
me."  She  looked  vexed,  but  complied.  "  When  you 
come  back  I  will  tell  you  why." 

"You  are  a  pest,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  and  so  joined  her 
friend,  rosy  with  rain-water  and  a  rub. 

"  Dear  me,  how  handsome  you  look  to-day  ! "  was  Miss 
Lucas's  first  remark. 

Rosa  never  dreamed  that  rain-water  and  rub  could  be 
the  cause  of  her  looking  so  well. 

"  It  is  my  tiresome  husband,"  said  she.  "  He  objects 
to  powder,  and  he  has  taken  away  my  puff." 

"  And  you  stood  that  ?  " 

"Obliged  to." 

"  Why,  you  poor-spirited  little  creature,  I  should  like 
to  see  a  husband  presume  to  interfere  with  me  in  those 
things.     Here,  take  mine." 

Rosa  hesitated  a  little.     "  Well  —  no  —  I  think  not." 

Miss  Lucas  laughed  at  her,  and  quizzed  her  so  on  her 
allowing  a  man  to  interfere  in  such  sacred  things  as 
dress  and  cosmetics,  that  she  came  back  irritated  with 
her  husband,  and  gave  him  a  short  answer  or  two.  Then 
he  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"You  treat  me  like  a  child  —  taking  away  my  very 
puff." 

"  I  treat  you  like  a  beautiful  flower,  that  no  bad  gar- 
dener shall  wither  whilst  I  am  here." 


140  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  What  nonsense  !  How  could  that  wither  me  ?  It  is 
only  violet  powder  —  Avhat  they  put  on  babies." 

"  And  who  are  the  Herods  that  put  it  on  babies  ?  " 

"  Their  own  mothers,  that  love  them  ten  times  more 
than  the  fathers  do." 

"  And  kill  a  hundred  of  them  for  one  a  man  ever  kills. 
Mothers  !  —  the  most  wholesale  homicides  in  the  nation. 
We  will  examine  your  violet-powder :  bring  it  down 
here." 

While  she  was  gone  he  sent  for  a  breakfast-cupful  of 
flour,  and  when  she  came  back  he  had  his  scales  out,  and 
begged  her  to  put  a  teaspoonful  of  flour  into  one  scale 
and  of  violet  powder  into  another.  The  flour  kicked  the 
beam,  as  Homer  expresses  himself. 

*'  Put  another  spoonful  of  flour." 

The  one  spoonful  of  violet  powder  outweighed  the  two 
of  flour. 

"  Now,"  said  Staines,  "  does  not  that  show  you  the 
presence  of  a  mineral  in  your  vegetable  powder  ?  I  sup- 
pose they  tell  you  it  is  made  of  white  violets  dried,  and 
triturated  in  a  diamond  mill.  Let  us  find  out  what 
metal  it  is.  We  need  not  go  very  deep  into  chemistry 
for  that."  He  then  applied  a  simple  test,  and  detected 
the  presence  of  lead  in  large  quantities.  Then  he 
lectured  her :  "  Invisible  perspiration  is  a  process  of 
nature  necessary  to  health  and  to  life.  The  skin  is 
made  porous  for  that  purpose.  You  can  kill  anybody  in 
an  hour  or  two  by  closing  the  pores.  A  certain  infalli- 
ble ass,  called  Pope  Leo  XII.,  killed  a  little  boy  in  two 
hours,  by  gilding  him  to  adorn  the  pageant  of  his  first 
procession  as  Pope.  But  what  is  death  to  the  whole 
body  must  be  injurious  to  a  part.  What  madness,  then, 
to  clog  the  pores  of  so  large  and  important  a  surface  as 
the  face,  and  check  the  invisible  perspiration :  how  much 
more  to  insert  lead  into  your  system  every  day  of  your 


A    SIMPLETON.  141 

life  ;  a  cumulative  poison,  and  one  so  deadly  and  so 
subtle,  that  the  Sheffield  file-cutters  die  in  their  prime, 
from  merely  hammering  on  a  leaden  anvil.  And  what 
do  you  gain  by  this  suicidal  habit  ?  No  plum  has  a 
sweeter  bloom  or  more  delicious  texture  than  the  skin 
of  your  young  face ;  but  this  mineral  filth  hides  that 
delicate  texture,  and  substitutes  a  dry,  uniform  appear- 
ance, more  like  a  certain  kind  of  leprosy  than  health. 
Nature  made  your  face  the  rival  of  peaches,  roses,  lilies ; 
and  you  say,  '  No ;  I  know  better  than  my  Creator  and 
my  God ;  my  face  shall  be  like  a  dusty  miller's.'  Go 
into  any  flour-mill,  and  there  you  shall  see  men  with 
faces  exactly  like  your  friend  Miss  Lucas's.  But  before 
a  miller  goes  to  his  sweetheart,  he  always  washes  liis 
face.  You  ladies  would  never  get  a  miller  down  to  your 
level  in  brains.  It  is  a  miller's  dirty  face  our  mono- 
maniacs of  Avoman  imitate,  not  the  face  a  miller  goes 
a-courting  with." 

"  La !  what  a  fuss  about  nothing !  " 

"  About  nothing !  Is  your  health  nothing  ?  Is  your 
beauty  nothing  ?  Well,  then,  it  will  cost  you  nothing  to 
promise  me  never  to  put  powder  on  your  face  again." 

"Very  well,  I  promise.  Now  what  will  you  do  for 
me  ?  " 

"  Work  for  you  —  write  for  you  —  suffer  for  you  —  be 
self-denying  for  you  —  and  even  give  myself  the  pain  of 
disappointing  you  now  and  then  —  looking  forward  to 
the  time  when  I  shall  be  able  to  say  'Yes '  to  everything 
you  ask  me.  Ah  !  child,  you  little  know  what  it  costs 
me  to  say  'No'  to  yo?<." 

Kosa  put  her  arms  round  him  and  acquiesced.  She  was 
one  of  those  who  go  with  the  last  speaker ;  but,  for  that 
very  reason,  the  eternal  companionship  of  so  flighty  and 
flirty  a  girl  as  Miss  Lucas  was  injurious  to  her. 

One  day  Lady  Cicely  Treherne  was  sitting  with  Mrs. 


142  A   SIMPLETON. 

Staines,  smiling  languidly  at  her  talk,  and  occasionally 
drawling  out  a  little  plain  good  sense,  when  in  came  Miss 
Lucas,  with  her  tongue  well  hung,  as  usual,  and  dashed 
into  twenty  topics  in  ten  minutes. 

This  young  lady  in  her  discourse  was  like  those  little 
oily  beetles  you  see  in  small  ponds,  whose  whole  life  is 
spent  in  tacking  —  confound  them  for  it !  —  generally  at 
right  angles.  What  they  are  in  navigation  was  Miss 
Lucas  in  conversation :  tacked  so  eternally  from  topic  to 
topic,  that  no  man  on  earth,  and  not  every  woman,  could 
follow  her. 

At  the  sight  and  sound  of  her.  Lady  Cicely  congealed 
and  stiffened.  Easy  and  unpretending  with  Mrs.  Staines, 
she  was  all  dignity,  and  even  majesty,  in  the  presence 
of  this  chatterbox ;  and  the  smoothness  with  which  the 
transfiguration  was  accomplished  marked  that  accom- 
plished actress  the  high-bred  woman  of  the  world. 

Rosa,  better  able  to  estimate  the  change  of  manner 
than  Miss  Lucas  was,  who  did  not  know  how  little  this 
Sawny  was  afflicted  with  misplaced  dignity,  looked  wist- 
fully and  distressed  at  her.  Lady  Cicely  smiled  kindly 
in  reply,  rose,  without  seeming  to  hurry,  —  catch  her 
condescending  to  be  rude  to  Charlotte  Lucas,  —  and  took 
her  departure,  with  a  profound  and  most  gracious  courtesy 
to  the  lady  who  had  driven  her  away. 

Mrs.  Staines  saw  her  down-stairs,  and  said,  ruefully, 
"I  am  afraid  you  do  not  like  my  friend  Miss  Lucas.  She 
is  a  great  rattle,  but  so  good-natured  and  clever." 

Lady  Cicely  shook  her  head.  "Clevaa  peoj^le  don't 
talk  so  much  nonsense  before  strangaas." 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  said  Rosa.  "  I  was  in  hopes  you  would 
like  her." 

"  Do  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do ;  but  I  shall  not,  if  she  drives  an  older 
friend  away." 


A   SEMPLETON.  143 

'^  My  dyah,  I'm  not  easily  dwiven  from  those  I  esteem. 
But  you  undastand  that  is  not  a  "woman  for  me  to  mis- 
pwonoAvnce  my  'ah's  befaw  —  xor  for  you  to  make  a 

BOSOM    FWIEXD    OF WOSA    StAIXES." 

She  said  this  with  a  sudden  maternal  solemnity  and 
kindness  that  contrasted  nobly  and  strangely  with  her 
yea-nay  style,  and  Mrs.  Staines  remembered  the  words 
years  after  they  were  spoken. 

It  so  happened  that  after  this  Mrs.  Staines  received  no 
more  visits  from  Lady  Cicely  for  some  time,  and  that 
vexed  her.  She  knew  her  sex  enough  to  be  aware  that 
they  are  very  jealous,  and  she  permitted  herself  to 
think  that  this  high-minded  Sawny  was  jealous  of  Miss 
Lucas. 

This  idea,  founded  on  a  general  estimate  of  her  sex, 
was  dispelled  by  a  few  lines  from  Lady  Cicely,  to  say 
her  family  and  herself  were  in  deep  distress ;  her  brother, 
Lord  Ayscough,  lay  dying  from  an  accident. 

Then  Rosa  was  all  remorse,  and  ran  down  to  Staines 
to  tell  him.  She  found  him  with  an  open  letter  in  his 
hand.  It  was  from  Dr.  Barr,  and  on  the  same  subject. 
The  doctor,  who  had  always  been  friendly  to  him,  invited 
him  to  come  down  at  once  to  Hallowtree  Hall,  in  Hunt- 
ingdonshire, to  a  consultation.  There  was  a  friendly 
intimation  to  start  at  once,  as  the  patient  might  die  any 
moment. 

Husband  and  wife  embraced  each  other  in  a  tumult  of 
surprised  thankfulness.  A  few  necessaries  were  thrown 
into  a  carpet-bag,  and  Dr.  Staines  was  soon  whirled  into 
Huntingdonshire.  Having  telegraphed  beforehand,  he 
was  met  at  the  station  by  the  earl's  carriage  and  people, 
and  driven  to  the  Hall.  He  was  received  by  an  old, 
silver-haired  butler,  looking  very  sad,  who  conducted  him 
to  a  boudoir ;  and  then  went  and  tapped  gently  at  the 
door  of  the  patient's  room.     It  was  opened  and  shut  very 


144  A   SIMPLETON. 

softly,  and  Lady  Cicely,  dressed  in  black,  and  looking 
paler  than  ever,  came  into  the  room. 

"Dr.  Staines,  I  think?" 

He  bowed. 

''Thank  you  for  coming  so  promptly.  Dr.  Barr  is 
gone.  I  fear  he  thinks  —  he  thinks  —  O  Dr.  Staines  — 
no  sign  of  life  but  in  his  poor  hands,  that  keep  moving 
night  and  day." 

Staines  looked  very  grave  at  that.  Lady  Cicely  ob- 
served it,  and,  faint  at  heart,  could  say  no  more,  but  led 
the  way  to  the  sick-room. 

There  in  a  spacious  chamber,  lighted  by  a  grand  oriel 
window  and  two  side  windows,  lay  rank,  title,  wealth, 
and  youth,  stricken  down  in  a  moment  by  a  common 
accident.  The  sufferer's  face  was  bloodless,  his  eyes 
fixed,  and  no  signs  of  life  but  in  his  thumbs,  and  they 
kept  working  with  strange  regularity. 

In  the  room  were  a  nurse  and  the  surgeon ;  the  neigh- 
boring physician,  who  had  called  in  Dr.  Barr,  had  just 
paid  his  visit  and  gone  away. 

Lady  Cicely  introduced  Dr.  Staines  and  Mr.  White,  and 
then  Dr.  Staines  stood  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  patient 
in  profound  silence.  Lady  Cicely  scanned  his  counte- 
nance searchingly,  and  was  struck  with  the  extraordinary 
power  and  intensity  it  assumed  in  examining  the  patient; 
but  the  result  was  not  encouraging.  Dr.  Staines  looked 
grave  and  gloomy. 

At  last,  without  removing  his  eye  from  the  recumbent 
figure,  he  said  quietly  to  Mr.  White,  "  Thrown  from  his 
horse,  sir." 

"  Horse  fell  on  him,  Dr.  Staines." 

"Any  visible  injuries  ?  " 

"Yes.  Severe  contusions,  and  a  rib  broken  and  pressed 
upon  the  lungs.  I  replaced  and  set  it.  Will  you 
see  ?  " 


A  SIMPLETON.  145 

"  If  you  please." 

He  examined  and  felt  the  patient,  and  said  it  had  been 
ably  done. 

Then  he  was  silent  and  searching. 

At  last  he  spoke  again.  "  The  motion  of  the  thumbs 
corresponds  exactly  with  his  pulse." 

"Is  that  so,  sir?" 

"It  is.  The  case  is  without  a  parallel.  How  long 
has  he  been  so  ?  " 

"  Nearly  a  week." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  It  is  so,  sir." 

Lady  Cicely  confirmed  this. 

"All  the  better,"  said  Dr.  Staines  upon  reflection. 
"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "the  visible  injuries  having  been 
ably  relieved,  I  shall  look  another  way  for  the  cause." 
Then,  after  another  pause,  "I  must  have  his  head 
shaved." 

Lady  Cicely  demurred  a  little  to  this ;  but  Dr.  Staines 
stood  firm,  and  his  lordship's  valet  undertook  the  job. 

Staines  directed  him  where  to  begin;  and  when  he 
had  made  a  circular  tonsure  on  the  top  of  the  head,  had 
it  sponged  with  tepid  water. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  he.  "  Here  is  the  mischief ; " 
and  he  pointed  to  a  very  slight  indentation  on  the  left 
side  of  the  pia  mater.  "  Observe,"  said  he,  "  there  is  no 
corresponding  indentation  on  the  other  side.  Under- 
neath this  trifling  depression  a  minute  piece  of  bone  is 
doubtless  pressing  on  the  most  sensitive  part  of  the 
brain.     He  must  be  trephined." 

Mr.  White's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  You  are  an  hospital  surgeon,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Staines.     I  have  no  fear  of  the  operation." 

"  Then  I  hand  the  patient  over  to  you.  The  case  at 
present  is  entirely  surgical." 


146  A  SIMPLETON. 

"White  was  driven  home,  and  soon  returned  with  the 
requisite  instruments.  The  operation  was  neatly  per- 
formed, and  then  Lady  Cicely  was  called  in.  She  came 
trembling ;  her  brother's  fingers  were  still  working,  but 
not  so  regularly, 

"  That  is  only  hahit,^^  said  Staines ;  "  it  will  soon  leave 
off,  now  the  cause  is  gone." 

And,  truly  enough,  in  about  five  minutes  the  fingers 
became  quiet.  The  eyes  became  human  next;  and 
within  half  an  hour  after  the  operation  the  earl  gave  a 
little  sigh. 

Lady  Cicely  clasped  her  hands,  and  uttered  a  little 
cry  of  delight, 

"This  will  not  do,"  said  Staines,  "I  shall  have  you 
screaming  when  he  speaks," 

"  Oh,  Dr,  Staines !  will  he  ever  speak  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  and  very  soon.     So  be  on  your  guard." 

This  strange  scene  reached  its  climax  soon  after,  by 
the  earl  saying,  quietly,  — 

"  Are  her  knees  broke,  Tom  ?  " 

Lady  Cicely  uttered  a  little  scream,  but  instantly  sup- 
pressed it, 

''  No,  my  lord,"  said  Staines,  smartly ;  "  only  rubbed  a 
bit.  You  can  go  to  sleep,  my  lord,  I'll  take  care  of  the 
mare." 

"  All  right/'  said  his  lordship ;  and  composed  himself 
to  slumber. 

Dr.  Staines,  at  the  earnest  request  of  Lady  Cicely, 
stayed  all  night ;  and  in  course  of  the  day  advised  her 
how  to  nurse  the  patient,  since  both  physician  and  sur- 
geon had  done  Avith  him. 

He  said  the  patient's  brain  might  be  irritable  for  some 
days,  and  no  women  in  silk  dresses  or  crinoline,  or  creak- 
ing shoes,  must  enter  the  room.  He  told  her  the  nurse 
was  evidently  a  clumsy  woman,  and  would  be  letting 


A  SIMPLETON.  147 

things  fall.  She  had  better  get  some  old  soldier  used  to 
nursing.  "  And  don't  whisper  in  the  room,"  said  he ; 
"nothing  irritates  them  worse;  and  don't  let  anybody- 
play  g,  piano  within  hearing ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  you 
may  try  him  with  slow  and  continuous  music  on  the 
flute  or  violin  if  you  like.  Don't  touch  his  bed  sud- 
denly ;  don't  sit  on  it  or  lean  on  it.  Dole  sunlight  into 
his  room  by  degrees ;  and  when  he  can  bear  it,  drench 
him  with  it.  Never  mind  what  the  old  school  tell  you. 
About  these  things  they  know  a  good  deal  less  than 
nothing." 

Lady  Cicely  received  all  this  like  an  oracle. 

The  cure  was  telegraphed  to  Dr.  Barr,  and  he  was 
requested  to  settle  the  fee.  He  was  not  the  man  to 
undersell  the  profession,  and  was  jealous  of  nobody, 
having  a  large  practice,  and  a  very  wealthy  wife.  So  he 
telegraphed  back  —  "  Fifty  guineas,  and  a  guinea  a  mile 
from  London." 

So,  as  Christopher  Staines  sat  at  an  early  breakfast, 
with  the  carriage  waiting  to  take  him  to  the  train,  two 
notes  were  brought  him  on  a  salver. 

They  were  both  directed  by  Lady  Cicely  Treherne. 
One  of  them  contained  a  few  kind  and  feeling  words  of 
gratitude  and  esteem ;  the  other,  a  check,  drawn  by  the 
earl's  steward,  for  one  hundred  and  thirty  guineas. 

He  bowled  up  to  London,  and  told  it  all  to  Rosa.  She 
sparkled  with  pride,  affection,  and  joy. 

"  Now,  who  says  you  are  not  a  genius  ? "  she  cried. 
"  A  hundred  and  thirty  guineas  for  one  fee !  Now,  if 
you  love  your  wife  as  she  loves  you  —  you  will  set  up  a 
brougham." 


148  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Doctor  Staines  begged  leave  to  distinguisli ;  he  had 
not  said  he  would  set  up  a  carriage  at  the  first  one 
hundred  guinea  fee,  but  only  that  he  would  not  set  up 
one  before.  There  are  misguided  people  who  would  call 
this  logic  :  but  Rosa  said  it  was  equivocating,  and  urged 
him  so  warmly  that  at  last  he  burst  out,  "  Who  can  go 
on  forever  saying  '  No,'  to  the  only  creature  he  loves  ?  " 
—  and  caved.  In  forty-eight  hours  more  a  brougham 
waited  at  Mrs.  Staines's  door.  The  servant  engaged  to 
drive  it  was  Andrew  Pearman,  a  bachelor,  and,  hitherto, 
an  under-groom.  He  readily  consented  to  be  coachman, 
and  to  do  certain  domestic  work  as  well.  So  Mrs.  Staines 
had  a  man-servant  as  well  as  a  carriage. 

Ere  long,  three  or  four  patients  called,  or  wrote,  one 
after  the  other.  These  Rosa  set  down  to  brougham,  and 
crowed;  she  even  crowed  to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  to 
whose  influence,  and  not  to  brougham's,  every  one  of 
these  patients  was  owing.  Lady  Cicely  kissed  her,  and 
demurely  enjoyed  the  poor  soul's  self-satisfaction. 

Staines  himself,  while  he  drove  to  or  from  these 
patients,  felt  more  sanguine,  and  buoyed  as  he  was  by 
the  consciousness  of  ability,  began  to  hope  he  had  turned 
the  corner. 

He  sent  an  account  of  Lord  Ayscough's  case  to  a 
medical  magazine :  and  so  full  is  the  world  of  flunkey- 
ism,  that  this  article,  though  he  withheld  the  name, 
retaining  only  the  title,  got  the  literary  wedge  in  for 
him  at  once :  and  in  due  course  he  became  a  paid  con- 
tributor to  two  medical  organs,  and  used  to  study  and 


A  SIMPLETON.  149 

write  more,  and  indent  the  little  stone  yard  less  than 
heretofore. 

It  was  about  this  time  circumstances  made  him 
acquainted  with  Phoebe  Dale.  Her  intermediate  history 
I  will  dispose  of  in  fewer  words  than  it  deserves.  Her 
ruin,  Mr.  Reginald  Falcon,  was  dismissed  from  his  club, 
for  marking  high  cards  on  the  back  with  his  nail.  This 
stopped  his  remaining  resource  —  borrowing :  so  he  got 
more  and  more  out  at  elbows,  till  at  last  he  came  down 
to  hanging  about  billiard-rooms,  and  making  a  little 
money  by  concealing  his  game ;  from  that,  however,  he 
rose  to  be  a  marker. 

Having  culminated  to  that,  he  wrote  and  proposed 
marriage  to  Miss  Dale,  in  a  charming  letter :  she  showed 
it  to  her  father  with  pride. 

Now,  if  his  vanity,  his  disloyalty,  his  falsehood,  his 
ingratitude,  and  his  other  virtues  had  not  stood  in  the 
way,  he  would  have  done  this  three  years  ago,  and  been 
jumped  at. 

But  the  offer  came  too  late;  not  for  Phcebe  —  she 
would  have  taken  him  in  a  moment  —  but  for  her  friends. 
A  baited  hook  is  one  thing,  a  bare  hook  is  another. 
Farmer  Dale  had  long  discovered  where  Phoebe's  money 
went :  he  said  not  a  word  to  her ;  but  went  up  to  town 
like  a  shot ;  found  Falcon  out,  and  told  him  he  mustn't 
think  to  eat  his  daughter's  bread.  She  should  marry  a 
man  that  could  make  a  decent  livelihood;  and  if  she 
was  to  run  away  with  him,  why  they'd  starve  together. 
The  farmer  was  resolute,  and  spoke  very  loud,  like  one 
that  expects  opposition,  and  comes  prepared  to  quarrel. 
Instead  of  that,  this  artful  rogue  addressed  him  with 
deep  respect  and  an  affected  veneration,  that  quite  puz- 
zled the  old  man  ;  acquiesced  in  every  word,  expressed 
contrition  for  his  past  misdeeds,  and  told  the  farmer  he 
had  quite  determined  to  labor  with  his  hands.     "  You 


150  A  SIMPLETON. 

know,  farmer,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  the  only  gentleman 
who  has  come  to  that  in  the  present  day.  Now,  all  my 
friends  that  have  seen  my  sketches,  assure  me  I  am  a 
born  painter ;  and  a  painter  I'll  be  —  for  love  of  Phoebe." 

The  farmer  made  a  wry  face.  "Painter!  that  is  a 
sorry  sort  of  a  trade." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  It's  the  best  trade  going.  There 
are  gentlemen  making  their  thousands  a  year  by  it." 

"  Not  in  our  parts,  there  hain't.  Stop  a  bit.  What  be 
ye  going  to  paint,  sir  ?     Housen,  or  folk  ?  " 

''  Oh,  hang  it,  not  houses.     Figures,  landscapes." 

"  Well,  ye  might  just  make  shift  to  live  at  it,  I  sup- 
pose, with  here  and  there  a  signboard.  They  are  the 
best  paid,  our  way  :  but,  Lord  bless  ye,  they  wants  head- 
piece. Well,  sir,  let  me  see  your  work.  Then  we'll  talk 
further." 

"  I'll  go  to  work  this  afternoon,"  said  Falcon  eagerly ; 
then  with  affected  surprise,  "Bless  me;  I  forgot.  I 
have  no  palette,  no  canvas,  no  colors.  You  couldn't 
lend  me  a  couple  of  sovereigns  to  buy  them,  could  you  ?" 

"Ay,  sir;  I  could.  But  I  woan't.  I'll  lend  ye  the 
things,  though,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  go  with  me  and 
buy  'em." 

Falcon  agreed,  with  a  lofty  smile ;  and  the  purchases 
were  made. 

Mr.  Falcon  painted  a  landscape  or  two  out  of  his 
imagination.  The  dealers  to  whom  he  took  them  de- 
clined them ;  one  advised  the  gentleman  painter  to  color 
tea-boards.     "  That's  your  line,"  said  he. 

"  The  world  has  no  taste,"  said  the  gentleman  painter : 
"  but  it  has  got  lots  of  vanity :  I'll  paint  portraits." 

He  did ;  and  formidable  ones :  his  portraits  were 
amazingly  like  the  people,  and  yet  unlike  men  and 
women,  especially  about  the  face.  One  thing,  he  didn't 
trouble  with  lights  and  shades,  but  went  slap  at  the 
fpatui-ej. 


A  SIMPLElOlf.  151 

His  brush  would  never  have  kept  him  ;  but  he  carried 
an  instrument,  in  the  use  of  which  he  was  really  an 
artist,  viz.,  his  tongue.  By  wheedling  and  underselling 
—  for  he  only  charged  a  pound  for  the  painted  canvas  — 
he  contrived  to  live ;  then  he  aspired  to  dress  as  well  as 
live.  With  this  second  object  in  view,  he  hit  upon  a 
characteristic  expedient. 

He  used  to  prowl  about,  and  when  he  saw  a  young 
woman  sweeping  the  afternoon  streets  with  a  long  silk 
train,  and,  in  short,  dressed  to  ride  in  the  park,  yet 
parading  the  streets,  he  would  take  his  hat  off  to  her, 
with  an  air  of  profound  respect,  and  ask  permission  to 
take  her  portrait.  Generally  he  met  a  prompt  rebuff; 
but  if  the  fair  was  so  unlucky  as  to  hesitate  a  single 
moment,  he  told  her  a  melting  tale  ;  he  had  once  driven 
his  four-in-hand ;  but  by  indorsing  his  friends'  bills, 
was  reduced  to  painting  likeness,  admirable  likenesses 
in  oil,  only  a  guinea  each. 

His  piteous  tale  provoked  more  gibes  than  pity,  but  as 
he  had  no  shame,  the  rebuffs  went  for  nothing :  he  actu- 
ally did  get  a  few  sitters  by  his  audacity :  and  some  of 
the  sitters  actually  took  the  pictures,  and  paid  for  them; 
others  declined  them  with  fury  as  soon  as  they  were 
finished.  These  he  took  back  with  a  piteous  sigh,  that 
sometimes  extracted  half  a  crown.  Then  he  painted 
over  the  rejected  one  and  let  it  dry ;  so  that  sometimes 
a  paid  portrait  would  present  a  beauty  enthroned  on  the 
debris  of  two  or  three  rivals,  and  that  is  where  few 
beauties  would  object  to  sit. 

All  this  time  he  wrote  nice  letters  to  Phoebe,  and 
adopted  the  tone  of  the  struggling  artist,  and  the  true 
lover,  who  wins  his  bride  by  patience,  perseverance,  and 
indomitable  industry ;  a  babbled  of  "  Self  Help." 

Meantime,  Phoebe  was  not  idle :  an  excellent  business 
woman,  she  took  immediate  advantage  of  a  new  station 


152  A   SIMPLETON. 

that  was  built  near  the  farm,  to  send  up  milk,  butter, 
and  eggs  to  London.  Being  genuine,  they  sold  like  wild- 
fire. Observing  that,  she  extended  her  operations,  by 
buying  of  other  farmers,  and  forwarding  to  London: 
and  then,  having  of  course  an  eye  to  her  struggling 
artist,  she  told  her  father  she  must  have  a  shop  in 
London,  and  somebody  in  it  she  could  depend  upon. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  wench,"  said  he ;  "  but  it  must 
not  be  thou.     I  can't  spare  thee." 

"  May  I  have  Dick,  father  ?  " 

"  Dick  !  he  is  rather  young." 

"But  he  is  very  quick,  father,  and  minds  every  word 
I  tell  him." 

"Ay,  he  is  as  fond  of  thee  as  ever  a  cow  was  of  a 
calf.     Well,  you  can  try  him." 

So  the  love-sick  woman  of  business  set  up  a  little 
shop,  and  put  her  brother  Dick  in  it,  and  all  to  see  more 
of  her  struggling  artist.  She  stayed  several  days,  to 
open  the  little  shop,  and  start  the  business.  She  adver- 
tised pure  milk,  and  challenged  scientific  analysis  of 
everything  she  sold.  This  came  of  her  being  a  reader ; 
she  knew,  by  the  journals,  that  we  live  in  a  sinful  and 
adulterating  generation,  and  anything  pure  must  be  a 
godsend  to  the  poor  poisoned  public. 

Now,  Dr.  Staines,  though  known  to  the  profession  as 
a  diagnost,  was  also  an  analyst,  and  this  challenge 
brought  him  down  on  Phoebe  Dale.  He  told  her  he  was 
a  physician,  and  in  search  of  pure  food  for  his  own 
family  — would  she  really  submit  the  milk  to  analysis  ? 

Phoebe  smiled  an  honest  country  smile,  and  said, 
"Surely,  sir."  She  gave  him  every  facility,  and  he 
applied  those  simple  tests  which  are  commonly  used  in 
France,  though  hardly  known  in  England. 

He  found  it  perfectly  pure,  and  told  her  so ;  and  gazed 
at  Phoebe  for  a  moment,  as  a  phenomenon. 


A   SiaiPLETON.  153 

She  smiled  again  at  that,  her  broad  country  smile. 
"That  is  a  wonder  in  London,  I  dare  say.  It's  my 
belief  half  the  children  that  die  here  are  perished  with 
watered  milk.  Well,  sir,  we  shan't  have  that  on  our 
souls,  father  and  I ;  he  is  a  farmer  in  Essex.  This 
comes  a  many  miles,  this  milk." 

Staines  looked  in  her  face,  with  kindly  approval 
marked  on  his  own  eloquent  features.  She  blushed  a 
little  at  so  fixed  a  regard.  Then  he  asked  her  if  she 
would  supply  him  with  milk,  butter,  and  eggs. 

"Why,  if  you  mean  sell  you  them,  yes,  sir,  with 
pleasure.  But  for  sending  them  home  to  you  in  this  big 
town,  as  some  do,  I  can't ;  for  there's  only  brother  Dick 
and  me :  it  is  an  experiment  like." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Staines  :  "  I  will  send  for  them." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  sir.  I  hope  you  won't  be  offended, 
sir ;  but  we  only  sell  for  ready  money." 

"  All  the  better :  my  order  at  home  is,  no  bills." 

When  he  was  gone,  Phoebe,  assuming  vast  experience, 
though  this  was  only  her  third  day,  told  Dick  that  was 
one  of  the  right  sort:  "and  oh,  Dick,"  said  she,  "did 
you  notice  his  eye  ?  " 

"  Not  particklar,  sister." 

"  There  now ;  the  boy  is  blind.  Why,  'twas  like  a 
jewel.  Such  an  eye  I  never  saw  in  a  man's  head,  nor 
a  woman's  neither," 

Staines  told  his  wife  about  Phoebe  and  her  brother, 
and  spoke  of  her  with  a  certain  admiration  that  raised 
Rosa's  curiosity,  and  even  that  sort  of  vague  jealousy 
that  fires  at  bare  praise.  "I  should  like  to  see  this  phe- 
nomenon," said  she.  "You  shall,"  said  he.  "I  have  to 
call  on  Mrs.  Manly.  She  lives  near.  I  will  drop  you  at 
the  little  shop,  and  come  back  for  you." 

He  did  so,  and  that  gave  Rosa  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
to  make  her  purchases.     When  he  came  back  he  found 


154  A   SIMPLETON. 

her  conversing  with  Phoebe,  as  if  they  were  old  friends, 
and  Dick  glaring  at  his  wife  with  awe  and  admiration. 
He  could  hardly  get  her  away. 

She  was  far  more  extravagant  in  her  praises  than 
Dr.  Staines  had  been.  "  What  a  good  creature ! "  said 
she.  "  And  how  clever !  To  think  of  her  setting  up  a 
shop  like  that  all  by  herself;  for  her  Dick  is  only 
seventeen." 

Dr.  Staines  recommended  the  little  shop  wherever 
he  went,  and  even  extended  its  operations.  He  asked 
Phoebe  to  get  her  own  wheat  ground  at  home,  and  send 
the  flour  up  in  bushel  bags.  "These  assassins,  the 
bakers,"  said  he,  "  are  putting  copper  into  the  flour  now, 
as  well  as  alum.  Pure  flour  is  worth  a  fancy  price  to 
any  family.  With  that  we  can  make  the  bread  of  life. 
What  you  buy  in  the  shops  is  the  bread  of  death." 

Dick  was  a  good,  sharp  boy,  devoted  to  his  sister.  He 
stuck  to  the  shop  in  London,  and  handed  the  money  to 
Phoebe,  when  she  came  for  it.  She  worked  for  it  in 
Essex,  and  extended  her  country  connection  for  supply 
as  the  retail  business  increased. 

Staines  wrote  an  article  on  pure  food,  and  incidentally 
mentioned  the  shop  as  a  place  where  flour,  milk,  and 
butter  were  to  be  had  pure.  This  article  was  published 
in  the  Lancet,  and  caused  quite  a  run  upon  the  little 
shop.  By  and  by  Phoebe  enlarged  it,  for  which  there 
were  great  capabilities,  and  made  herself  a  pretty  little 
parlor,  and  there  she  and  Dick  sat  to  Falcon  for  their 
portraits;  here,  too,  she  hung  his  rejected  landscapes. 
They  were  fair  in  her  eyes  ;  what  matter  whether  they 
were  like  nature  ?  his  hand  had  painted  them.  She 
knew,  from  him,  that  everybody  else  had  rejected  them. 
With  all  the  more  pride  and  love  did  she  have  them 
framed  in  gold,  and  hung  up  with  the  portraits  in  her 
little  sanctum. 


A     SESrPLETON".  155 

For  a  few  months  Phoebe  Dale  was  as  happy  as  she 
deserved  to  be.  Her  lover  was  working,  and  faithful  to 
her  —  at  least  she  saw  no  reason  to  doubt  it.  He  came 
to  see  her  every  evening,  and  seemed  devoted  to  her : 
would  sit  quietly  with  her,  or  walk  with  her,  or  take  her 
to  a  play,  or  a  music-hall  —  at  lier  expense. 

She  now  lived  in  a  quiet  elysium,  with  a  bright  and 
rapturous  dream  of  the  future  ;  for  she  saw  she  had  hit 
on  a  good  vein  of  business,  and  should  soon  be  inde- 
pendent, and  able  to  indulge  herself  Avith  a  husband,  and 
ask  no  man's  leave. 

She  sent  to  Essex  for  a  dairymaid,  and  set  her  to  churn 
milk  into  butter,  coram  poimlo,  at  a  certain  hour  every 
morning.  This  made  a  new  sensation.  At  other  times 
the  woman  was  employed  to  deliver  milk  and  cream  to 
a  few  favored  customers. 

Mrs.  Staines  dropped  in  now  and  then,  and  chatted 
with  her.  Her  SAveet  face  and  her  naivete  won  Phoebe's 
heart ;  and  one  day,  as  happiness  is  apt  to  be  comnnmi- 
catiA^e,  she  let  out  to  her,  in  reply  to  a  feeler  or  two 
as  to  Avhether  she  Avas  quite  alone,  that  she  was  engaged 
to  be  married  to  a  gentleman.  "But  he  is  not  rich, 
ma'am,"  said  Phoebe  plaintively  ;  "  he  has  had  trouble  : 
obliged  to  AA'ork  for  his  liA'ing,  like  me ;  he  painted  these 
pictures,  every  one  of  them.  If  it  was  not  making  too 
free,  and  you  could  spare  a  guinea  —  he  charges  no  more 
for  the  picture,  only  you  must  go  to  the  expense  of  the 
frame." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Eosa  warmly.  "I'll  sit  for  it 
here,  any  day  you  like." 

NoAV,  Eosa  said  this,  out  of  her  ever  ready  kindness, 
not  to  wound  Phoebe  :  but  liaA'iug  made  the  promise,  she 
kept  clear  of  the  place  for  some  days,  hoping  Phoebe 
would  forget  all  about  it.  Meantime  she  sent  her 
husband  to  buy. 


156  A  SIMPLETON. 

In  about  a  fortnight  she  called  again,  primed  with 
evasions  if  she  should  be  asked  to  sit ;  but  nothing  of 
the  kind  was  proposed.  Phoebe  was  dealing  when  she 
went  in.  The  customers  disposed  of,  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Staines,  "  Oh,  ma'am,  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  I  have 
something  I  should  like  to  show  you."  She  took  her 
into  the  parlor,  and  made  her  sit  down :  then  she  opened 
a  drawer,  and  took  out  a  very  small  substance  that  looked 
like  a  tear  of  ground  glass,  and  put  it  on  the  table  before 
her.  "  There,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  that  is  all  he  has  had 
for  painting  a  friend's  picture." 

"  Oh !  what  a  shame." 

''His  friend  was  going  abroad  —  to  Natal;  to  his  uncle 
that  farms  out  there,  and  does  very  well ;  it  is  a  first-rate 
part,  if  you  take  out  a  little  stock  with  you,  and  some 
money ;  so  my  one  gave  him  credit,  and  when  the  letter 
came  with  that  postmark,  he  counted  on  a  five-pound 
note ;  but  the  letter  only  said  he  had  got  no  money  yet, 
but  sent  him  something  as  a  keepsake :  and  there  was 
this  little  stone.  Poor  fellow  !  he  flung  it  down  in  a 
passion ;  he  was  so  disappointed." 

Phoebe's  great  gray  eyes  filled ;  and  Eosa  gave  a  little 
coo  of  sympathy  that  was  very  womanly  and  lovable. 

Phoebe  leaned  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  and  said  thought- 
fully, "  I  picked  it  up,  and  brought  it  away ;  for,  after 
all  —  don't  you  think,  ma'am,  it  is  very  strange  that  a 
friend  should  send  it  all  that  way,  if  it  was  worth  nothing 
at  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible.     He  could  not  be  so  heartless." 

"  And  do  you  know,  ma'am,  when  I  take  it  up  in 
my  fingers,  it  doesn't  feel  like  a  thing  that  was  worth 
nothing." 

''  N"o  more  it  does :  it  makes  my  fingers  tremble.  May 
I  take  it  home,  and  show  it  my  luisband  ?  he  is  a  great 
physician  and  knows  everything." 


A   SIMPLETON.  157 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  be  obliged  to  you,  ma'am." 

Rosa  drove  liome,  on  purpose  to  show  it  to  Christopher. 
She  ran  into  his  study :  "  Oh,  Christopher,  please  look  at 
that.  You  know  that  good  creature  we  have  our  flour 
and  milk  and  things  of.  She  is  is  engaged,  and  he  is  a 
painter.  Oh,  such  daubs  !  He  painted  a  friend,  and  the 
friend  sent  that  home  all  the  way  from  Natal,  and  he 
dashed  it  down,  and  she  picked  it  up,  and  what  is  it  ? 
ground  glass,  or  a  pebble,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  —  by  its  shape,  and  the  great  —  brilliancy 
—  and  refraction  of  light,  on  this  angle,  where  the  stone 
has  got  polished  by  rubbing  against  other  stones,  in  the 
course  of  ages,  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  is  —  a  diamond." 

"  A  diamond  !  "  shrieked  Rosa.  "  No  wonder  my 
fingers  trembled.  Oh,  can  it  be  ?  Oh,  you  good,  cold- 
blooded Christie! — Poor  things!  —  Come  along,  Dia- 
mond !     Oh  you  beauty  !     Oh  you  duck !  " 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  I  only  said  I  thought  it 
was  a  diamond.  Let  me  weigh  it  against  water,  and 
then  I  shall  know." 

He  took  it  to  his  little  laboratory,  and  returned  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  said,  "Yes.  It  is  just  three  times 
and  a  half  heavier  than  water.     It  is  a  diamond." 

"  Are  you  positive  ?  " 

"  I'll  stake  my  existence." 

"  What  is  it  worth  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  I'm  not  a  jeweller :  but  it  is  very  large  and 
pear-shaped,  and  I  see  no  flaw :  I  don't  think  you  could 
buy  it  for  less  than  three  hundred  pounds." 

"  Three  hundred  pounds  !  It  is  worth  three  hundred 
pounds." 

"Or  sell  it  for  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds." 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty !  It  is  worth  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds." 


158  A  SIMPLETON. 

"Why,  my  dear,  one  would  think  you  had  invented 
'  the  diamond.'  Show  me  how  to  crystallize  carbon,  and 
I  will  share  your  enthusiasm." 

"Oh,  I  leave  you  to  carbonize  crystal.  I  prefer  to 
gladden  hearts :  and  I  will  do  it  this  minute,  with  my 
diamond." 

"  Do,  dear ;  and  I  will  take  that  opportunity  to  finish 
my  article  on  Adulteration." 

Kosa  drove  off  to  Phoebe  Dale. 

Now  Phoebe  was  drinking  tea  with  Keginald  Falcon, 
in  her  little  parlor.  "  Who  is  that,  I  wonder  ?  "  said 
she,  when  the  carriage  drew  up. 

Reginald  drew  back  a  corner  of  the  gauze  curtain 
which  had  been  drawn  across  the  little  glass  door  leading 
from  the  shop. 

"  It  is  a  lady,  and  a  beautiful  —  Oh !  let  me  get  out." 
And  he  rushed  out  at  the  door  leading  to  the  kitchen, 
not  to  be  recognized. 

This  set  Phoebe  all  in  a  flutter,  and  the  next  moment 
Mrs.  Staines  tapped  at  the  little  door,  then  opened  it, 
and  peeped.     "  Good  news  !  may  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  said  Phoebe,  still  troubled  and  confused  by 
Reginald's  strange  agitation. 

"  There  !  It  is  a  diamond !  "  screamed  Rosa.  "  My 
husband  knew  it  directly.  He  knows  everything.  If 
ever  you  are  ill,  go  to  him  and  nobody  else — by  the 
refraction,  and  the  angle,  and  its  being  three  times  and 
a  half  as  heavy  as  water.  It  is  worth  three  hundred 
pounds  to  buy,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to 
sell" 

"  Oh  ! " 

"  So  don't  you  go  throwing  it  away,  as  he  did.  (In  a 
whisper.)  Two  teacups  ?  Was  that  him?  I  have 
driven  him  away.  I  am  so  sorry.  I'll  go;  and  then 
you  can  tell  him.     Poor  fellow  !  " 


A  SIMPLETON.  159 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  don't  go  yet,"  said  Phoebe,  trembling. 
"  I  haven't  half  thanked  you." 

"  Oh,  bother  thanks.     Kiss  me ;  that  is  the  way." 

"May  I?" 

"  You  may,  and  must.  There  —  and  there  —  and 
there.  Oh  dear,  what  nice  things  good  luck  and  happi- 
ness are,  and  how  sweet  to  bring  them  for  once." 

Upon  this  Phoebe  and  she  had  a.nice  little  cry  together, 
and  Mrs.  Staines  went  off  refreshed  thereby,  and  as  gay 
as  a  lark,  pointing  slyly  at  the  door,  and  making  faces 
to  Phoebe  that  she  knew  he  was  there,  and  she  only 
retired,  out  of  her  admirable  discretion,  that  they  might 
enjoy  the  diamond  together. 

When  she  was  gone,  Reginald,  whose  eye  and  ear  had 
been  at  the  keyhole,  alternately  gloating  on  the  face  and 
drinking  the  accents  of  the  only  woman  he  had  ever 
really  loved,  came  out,  looking  pale,  and  strangely 
disturbed ;  and  sat  down  at  table,  without  a  word. 

Phoebe  came  back  to  him,  full  of  the  diamond.  "  Did 
you  hear  what  she  said,  my  dear  ?  It  is  a  diamond ;  it 
is  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  at  least.  Why, 
what  ails  you  ?     Ah !  to  be  sure  !  you  know  that  lady." 

"  I  have  cause  to  know  her.     Cursed  jilt !  " 

"  You  seem  a  good  deal  put  out  at  the  sight  of  her." 

"  It  took  me  by  surprise,  that  is  all." 

"It  takes  me  by  surprise  too.  I  thought  you  Avere 
cured.     I  thought  my  turn  had  come  at  last." 

Reginald  met  this  in  sullen  silence.  Then  Phoebe  was 
sorry  she  had  said  it ;  for,  after  all,  it  wasn't  the  man's 
fault  if  an  old  sweetheart  had  run  into  the  room,  and 
given  him  a  start.  So  she  made  him  some  fresh  tea,  and 
pressed  him  kindly  to  try  her  home-made  bread  and 
butter. 

My  lord  relaxed  his  frown  and  consented,  and  of  course 
they  talked  diamond. 


160  A   SIMPLETON. 

He  told  her,  loftily,  he  must  take  a  studio,  and  his 
sitters  must  come  to  him,  and  must  no  longer  expect  to 
be  immortalized  for  one  pound.  It  must  be  two  pounds 
for  a  bust,  and  three  pounds  for  a  kitcat. 

"  Nay,  but,  my  dear,"  said  Phoebe,  "  they  will  pay  no 
more  because  you  have  a  diamond." 

"Then  they  will  have  to  go  unpainted,"  said  Mr, 
Falcon, 

This  was  intended  for  a  threat,  Phoebe  instinctively 
felt  that  it  might  not  be  so  received ;  she  counselled 
moderation.  "  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  earned  a  dia- 
mond," said  she  :  "but  'tis  only  once  in  a  life.  Now,  be 
ruled  by  me :  go  on  just  as  you  are.  Sell  the  diamond, 
and  give  me  the  money  to  keep  for  you.  Why,  you 
might  add  a  little  to  it,  and  so  would  I,  till  we  made  it 
up  two  hundred  pounds.  And  if  you  could  only  show 
two  hundred  pounds  you  had  made  and  laid  by,  father 
would  let  us  marry,  and  I  might  keep  this  shop  —  it  pays 
well,  I  can  tell  you  —  and  keep  my  gentleman  in  a  sly 
corner ;  you  need  never  be  seen  in  it." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  he,  "  that  is  the  small  game.  But  I 
am  a  man  that  have  always  preferred  the  big  game.  I 
shall  set  up  my  studio,  and  make  enough  to  keep  us  both. 
So  give  me  the  stone,  if  you  please,  I  shall  take  it 
round  to  them  all,  and  the  rogues  won't  get  it  out  of  vie 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty ;  why,  it  is  as  big  as  a  nut." 

"  No,  no,  Reginald,  Money  has  always  made  mischief 
between  you  and  me.  You  never  had  fifty  pounds  yet, 
you  didn't  fall  into  temptation.  Do  pray  let  me  keep 
it  for  you  ;  or  else  sell  it  —  I  know  how  to  sell ;  nobody 
better — and  keep  the  money  for  a  good  occasion," 

"  Is  it  yours,  or  mine  ?  "  said  he,  sulkily. 

"  Why  yours,  dear ;  you  earned  it," 

"  Then  give  it  me,  please,"  And  he  almost  forced  it 
out  of  her  hand. 


A  SIMPLETON.  161 

So  now  she  sat  down  and  cried  over  this  piece  of  good 
luck,  for  her  heart  filled  with  forebodings. 

He  laughed  at  her,  but  at  last  had  the  grace  to  console  her, 
and  assure  her  she  was  tormenting  herself  for  nothing. 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  she,  sadly. 

Time  did  show. 

Three  or  four  days  he  came,  as  usual,  to  laugh  her  out 
of  her  forebodings.  But  presently  his  visits  ceased.  She 
knew  what  that  meant :  he  was  living  like  a  gentleman, 
melting  his  diamond,  and  playing  her  false  with  the  first 
pretty  face  he  met. 

This  blow,  coming  after  she  had  been  so  happy,  struck 
Phoebe  Dale  stupid  with  grief.  The  line  on  her  high 
forehead  deepened  ;  and  at  night  she  sat  with  her  hands 
before  her,  sighing,  and  sighing,  and  listening  for  the 
footsteps  that  never  came. 

"  Oh,  Dick ! "  she  said,  "  never  you  love  any  one.  I 
am  aweary  of  my  life.  And  to  think  that,  but  for  that 
diamond  —  oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  " 

Then  Dick  used  to  try  and  comfort  her  in  his  way, 
and  often  put  his  arm  round  her  neck,  and  gave  her  his 
rough  but  honest  sympathy.  Dick's  rare  affection  was 
her  one  drop  of  comfort ;  it  was  something  to  relieve  her 
swelling  heart. 

"  Oh,  Dick ! "  she  said  to  him  one  night,  "■  I  wish  I 
had  married  him." 

"What,  to  be  ill-used ? " 

"  He  couldn't  use  me  worse.  I  have  been  wife,  and 
mother,  and  sweetheart,  and  all,  to  him ;  and  to  be  left 
like  this.     He  treats  me  like  the  dirt  beneath  his  feet." 

"'Tis  your  own  fault,  Phoebe,  partly.  You  say  the 
word,  and  I'll  break  every  bone  in  his  carcass." 

"  What,  do  him  a  mischief !  Why,  I'd  rather  die  than 
harm  a  hair  of  his  head.  You  must  never  lift  a  hand  to 
him,  or  I  shall  hate  you." 


162  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Hate  me,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  Ay,  boy  :  I  should.  God  forgive  me :  'tis  no  use 
deceiving  ourselves  ;  when  a  woman  loves  a  man  she 
despises,  never  you  come  between  them ;  there's  no 
reason  in  her  love,  so  it  is  incurable.  One  comfort,  it 
can't  go  on  forever ;  it  must  kill  me,  before  my  time  ; 
and  so  best.  If  I  was  only  a  mother,  and  had  a  little 
Reginald  to  dandle  on  my  knee  and  gloat  upon,  till  he 
spent  his  money,  and  came  back  to  me.  That's  why  I 
said  I  wished  I  was  his  wife.  Oh  !  why  does  God  fill  a 
poor  woman's  bosom  with  love,  and  nothing  to  spend  it 
on  but  a  stone ;  for  sure  his  heart  must  be  one.  If  I  had 
only  something  that  would  let  me  always  love  it,  a  little 
toddling  thing  at  my  knee,  that  would  always  let  me 
look  at  it,  and  love  it,  something  too  young  to  be  false 
to  me,  too  weak  to  run  away  from  my  long — ing  —  arms 
—  and  —  year — ning  heart!"  Then  came  a  burst  of 
agony,  and  moans  of  desolation,  till  poor  puzzled  Dick 
blubbered  loudly  at  her  grief ;  and  then  her  tears  flowed 
in  streams. 

Trouble  on  trouble.  Dick  himself  got  strangely  out 
of  sorts,  and  complained  of  shivers.  Phoebe  sent  him  to 
bed  early,  and  made  him  some  white  Avine  whey  very  hot. 
In  the  morning  he  got  up,  and  said  he  was  better ;  but 
after  breakfast  he  was  violently  sick,  and  suffered  several 
returns  of  nausea  before  noon.  "  One  would  think  I 
was  poisoned,"  said  he. 

At  one  o'clock  he  was  seized  with  a  kind  of  spasm 
in  the  throat  that  lasted  so  long  it  nearly  choked  him. 

Then  Phoebe  got  frightened,  and  sent  to  the  nearest 
surgeon.  He  did  not  hurry,  and  poor  Dick  had  another 
frightful  spasm  just  as  he  came  in. 

"It  is  hysterical,"  said  the  surgeon.  "ISTo  disease  of 
the  heart,  is  there  ?  Give  him  a  little  sal-volatile  every 
half  hour." 


A   SIMPLETON.  163 

In  spite  of  the  sal-volatile  these  terrible  spasms  seized 
him  every  half  hour ;  and  now  he  used  to  spring  off  the 
bed  with  a  cry  of  terror  Avhen  they  came ;  and  each  one 
left  him  weaker  and  weaker ;  he  had  to  be  carried  back 
by  the  women. 

A  sad,  sickening  fear  seized  on  Phoebe.  She  left  Dick 
with  the  maid,  and  tying  on  her  bonnet  in  a  moment, 
rushed  wildly  down  the  street,  asking  the  neighbors  for 
a  great  doctor,  the  best  that  could  be  had  for  money.  One 
sent  her  east  a  mile,  another  west,  and  she  was  almost 
distracted,  when  who  should  drive  up  but  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Staines,  to  make  purchases.  She  did  not  know  his  name, 
but  she  knew  he  was  a  doctor.  She  ran  to  the  window, 
and  cried,  "  Oh,  doctor,  my  brother !  Oh,  pray  come  to 
him.     Oh!  oh!" 

Dr.  Staines  got  quickly,  but  calmly,  out ;  told  his  wife 
to  wait ;  and  followed  Phoebe  up-stairs.  She  told  him  in 
a  few  agitated  words  how  Dick  had  been  taken,  and  all 
the  symptoms  ;  especially  what  had  alarmed  her  so,  his 
springing  off  the  bed  when  the  spasm  came. 

Dr.  Staines  told  her  to  hold  the  patient  up.  He  lost 
not  a  moment,  but  opened  his  mouth  resolutely,  and 
looked  down. 

"The  glottis  is  swollen,"  said  he:  then  he  felt  his 
hands,  and  said,  with  the  grave,  terrible  calm  of  expe- 
rience, "He  is  dying." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no !     Oh,  doctor,  save  him  !  save  him  ! " 

"  Nothing  can  save  him,  unless  we  had  a  surgeon  on 
the  spot.  Yes,  I  might  save  him,  if  you  have  the  cour- 
age :  opening  his  windpipe  before  the  next  spasm  is  his 
one  chance." 

"  Open  his  windpipe  !  Oh,  doctor !  It  will  kill  him. 
Let  me  look  at  you." 

She  looked  hard  in  his  face.     It  gave  her  confidence. 

"  Is  it  the  only  chance  ?  " 


164  A  SIMPLETON. 

*'  The  only  one  :  and  it  is  flying  while  we  chatter." 

"Do    IT." 

"  He  whipped  out  his  lancet. 

"But  I  can't  look  on  it.  I  trust  to  you  and  my 
Saviour's  mercy." 

She  fell  on  her  knees,  and  bowed  her  head  in  prayer. 

Staines  seized  a  basin,  put  it  by  the  bedside,  made  an 
incision  in  the  windpipe,  and  got  Dick  down  on  his 
stomach,  with  his  face  over  the  bedside.  Some  blood 
ran,  but  not  much.  "  Now ! "  he  cried,  cheerfully,  "  a 
small  bellows  !     There's  one  in  your  parlor.     Run." 

Phoebe  ran  for  it,  and  at  Dr.  Staines'  direction  lifted 
Dick  a  little,  while  the  bellows,  duly  cleansed,  were 
gently  applied  to  the  aperture  in  the  windpipe,  and  the 
action  of  the  lungs  delicately  aided  by  this  primitive  but 
effectual  means. 

He  showed  Phoebe  how  to  do  it,  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his 
pocket-book,  wrote  a  hasty  direction  to  an  able  surgeon 
near,  and  sent  his  wife  off  with  it  in  the  carriage. 

Phoebe  and  he  never  left  the  patient  till  the  surgeon 
came  with  all  the  instruments  required ;  amongst  the 
rest,  with  a  big,  tortuous  pair  of  nippers,  with  which  he 
could  reach  the  glottis,  and  snip  it.  But  they  con- 
sulted, and  thought  it  wiser  to  continue  the  surer 
method ;  and  so  a  little  tube  was  neatly  inserted  into 
Dick's  windpipe,  and  his  throat  bandaged ;  and  by  this 
aperture  he  did  his  breathing  for  some  little  time. 

Phoebe  nursed  him  like  a  mother ;  and  the  terror  and 
the  joy  did  her  good,  and  made  her  less  desolate. 

Dick  was  only  just  well  when  both  of  them  were  sum- 
moned to  the  farm,  and  arrived  only  just  in  time  to 
receive  their  father's  blessing  and  his  last  sigh. 

Their  elder  brother,  a  married  man,  inherited  the  farm, 
and  was  executor.  Phoebe  and  Dick  were  left  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  apiece,  on  condition  of  their  leaving 
England  and  going  to  Natal. 


A  SBIPLETON.  165 

They  knew  directly  what  that  meant.  Phoebe  was  to 
be  parted  from  a  bad  man,  and  Dick  was  to  comfort  her 
for  the  loss. 

When  this  part  of  the  will  was  read  to  Phoebe,  she 
turned  faint,  and  only  her  health  and  bodily  vigor  kept 
her  from  swooning  right  away. 

But  she  yielded.  ''It  is  the  will  of  the  dead,"  said 
she,  "  and  I  will  obey  it ;  for,  oh,  if  I  had  but  listened  to 
him  more  when  he  was  alive  to  advise  me,  I  should  not 
sit  here  now,  sick  at  heart  and  dry-eyed,  when  I  ought 
to  be  thinking  only  of  the  good  friend  that  is  gone." 

When  she  had  come  to  this  she  became  feverishly 
anxious  to  be  gone.  She  busied  herself  in  purchasing 
agricultural  machines,  and  stores,  and  even  stock;  and 
to  see  her  pinching  the  beasts'  ribs  to  find  their  con- 
dition, and  parrying  all  attempts  to  cheat  her,  you  would 
never  have  believed  she  could  be  a  love-sick  woman. 

Dick  kept  her  up  to  the  mark.  He  only  left  her  to 
bargain  with  the  master  of  a  good  vessel ;  for  it  was  no 
trifle  to  take  out  horses  and  cows,  and  machines,  and 
bales  of  cloth,  cotton,  and  linen. 

When  that  was  settled  they  came  in  to  town  together, 
and  Phoebe  bought  shrewdly,  at  wholesale  houses  in  the 
city,  for  cash,  and  would  have  bargains :  and  the  little 
shop  in Street  was  turned  into  a  warehouse. 

They  were  all  ardor,  as  colonists  should  be ;  and  what 
pleased  Dick  most,  she  never  mentioned  Falcon ;  yet  he 
learned  from  the  maid  that  worthy  had  been  there  twice, 
looking  very  seedy. 

The  day  drew  near.     Dick  was  in  high  spirits. 

"  We  shall  soon  make  our  fortune  out  there,"  he  said ; 
"  and  I'll  get  you  a  good  husband." 

She  shuddered,  but  said  nothing. 

The  evening  before  they  were  to  sail,  Phoebe  sat  alone, 
in  her  black  dress,  tired  with  work,  and  asking  herself. 


166  A  SIMPLETON. 

sick  at  heart,  could  she  ever  really  leave  England,  when 
the  door  opened  softly,  and  Keginald  Falcon,  shabbily 
dressed,  came  in,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

She  started  up  with  a  scream,  then  sank  down  again, 
trembling,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  run  away  from  me ! "  said  he 
savagely. 

"Ay,  Reginald,"  said  she  meekly. 

"  This  is  your  fine  love,  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  have  worn  it  out,  dear,"  she  said  softly,  without 
turning  her  head  from  the  wall. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much ;  but,  curse  it,  every  time 
I  leave  you  I  learn  to  love  you  more.  I  am  never  really 
happy  but  when  I  am  with  you." 

"  Bless  you  for  saying  that,  dear.  I  often  thought  you 
imist  find  that  out  one  day ;  but  you  took  too  long." 

"  Oh,  better  late  than  never.  Phoebe  !  Can  you  have 
the  heart  to  go  to  the  Cape,  and  leave  me  all  alone  in 
the  world,  with  nobody  that  really  cares  for  me  ?  Surely 
you  are  not  obliged  to  go." 

"Yes;  my  father  left  Dick  and  me  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  apiece  to  go :  that  was  the  condition.  Poor  Dick 
loves  his  unhappy  sister.  He  won't  go  without  me  —  I 
should  be  his  ruin  —  poor  Dick,  that  really  loves  me ; 
and  he  lay  a-dying  here,  and  the  good  doctor  and  me  — 
God  bless  him  —  we  brought  him  back  from  the  grave. 
Ah,  you  little  know  what  I  have  gone  through.  You 
were  not  here.  Catch  you  being  near  me  when  I  am  in 
trouble.  There,  I  must  go.  I  must  go.  I  will  go ;  if  I 
fling  myself  into  the  sea  half  way." 

"  And,  if  you  do,  I'll  take  a  dose  of  poison ;  for  I  have 
thrown  away  the  truest  heart,  the  sweetest,  most  unself- 
ish, kindest,  generous  —  oh !  oh  !  oh ! " 

And  he  began  to  howl. 

This  set  Phoebe  'fobbing.     "Don't  cry,  dear,"  she  mur- 


A   SIMPLETON.  167 

mured  through  her  tears ;  "  if  you  have  really  any  love 
for  me,  come  with  me." 

"  What,  leave  England,  and  go  to  a  desert  ?  " 

"  Love  can  make  a  desert  a  garden." 

"  Phoebe,  I'll  do  anything  else.  I'll  swear  not  to  leave 
your  side.  I'll  never  look  at  any  other  face  but  yours. 
But  I  can't  live  in  Africa." 

"1  know  you  can't.  It  takes  a  little  real  love  to  go 
there  with  a  poor  girl  like  me.  Ah,  well,  I'd  have  made 
you  so  happy.  We  are  not  poor  emigrants.  I  have  a 
horse  for  you  to  ride,  and  guns  to  shoot;  and  me  and 
Dick  would  do  all  the  work  for  you.  But  there  are 
others  here  you  can't  leave  for  me.  Well,  then,  good-by, 
dear.  In  Africa,  or  here,  I  shall  always  love  you ;  and 
many  a  salt  tear  I  shall  shed  for  you  yet,  many  a  one  I 
have,  as  well  you  know.  God  bless  you.  Pray  for  poor 
Phoebe,  that  goes  against  her  will  to  Africa,  and  leaves 
her  heart  with  thee." 

This  was  too  much  even  for  the  selfish  Reginald.  He 
kneeled  at  her  knees,  and  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it, 
and  actually  shed  a  tear  or  two  Over  it. 

She  could  not  speak.  He  had  no  hope  of  changing 
her  resolution ;  and  presently  he  heard  Dick's  voice  out- 
side, so  he  got  up  to  avoid  him.  "  I'll  come  again  in  the 
morning,  before  you  go." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  "  she  gasped.  "  Unless  you  want  me  to 
die  at  your  feet.     I  am  almost  dead  now." 

Reginald  slipped  out  by  the  kitchen. 

Dick  came  in,  and  found  his  sister  leaning  with  her 
head  back  against  the  wall.  "Why,  Phoebe,"  said  lie, 
"  whatever  is  the  matter  ? "  and  he  took  her  by  the 
shoulder. 

She  moaned,  and  he  felt  her  all  limp  and  powerless. 

"  What  is  it,  lass  ?  Whatever  is  the  matter  ?  Is  it 
about  going  away  ?  " 


168  A   SIMPLETON. 

She  would  not  speak  for  a  long  time. 

When  she  did  speak,  it  was  to  say  something  for 
which  my  male  reader  may  not  be  prepared. .  But  it  will 
not  surprise  the  women. 

"  0  Dick  —  forgive  me  ! " 

"Why,  what  for?" 

"  Forgive  me,  or  else  kill  me :  I  don't  care  which." 

"I  do,  though.  There,  I  forgive  you.  Now  what's 
your  crime  ?  " 

"  I  can't  go.     Forgive  me  ! " 

"Can't  go?" 

"  I  can't.     Forgive  me  !  " 

"  I'm  blessed  if  I  don't  believe  that  vagabond  has  been 
here  tormenting  of  you  again." 

"  Oh,  don't  miscall  him.  He  is  penitent.  Yes,  Dick, 
he  has  been  here  crying  to  me  —  and  I  can't  leave  him. 
I  can't  —  I  can't.  Dear  Dick  !  you  are  young  and  stout- 
hearted ;  take  all  the  things  over,  and  make  your  fortune 
out  there,  and  leave  your  poor  foolish  sister  behind.  I 
should  only  fling  myself  into  the  salt  sea  if  I  left  him 
now,  and  that  would  be  peace  to  me,  but  a  grief  to 
thee." 

"  Lordsake,  Phoebe,  don't  talk  so.  I  can't  go  without 
you.  And  do  but  think,  why,  the  horses  are  on  board  by 
now,  and  all  the  gear.  It's  my  belief  a  good  hiding  is  all 
you  want,  to  bring  you  to  your  senses ;  but  I  han't  the 
heart  to  give  you  one,  worse  luck.  Blessed  if  I  know 
what  to  say  or  do." 

"  I  won't  go ! "  cried  Phoebe,  turning  violent  all  of  a 
sudden.  "No,  not  if  I  am  dragged  to  the  ship  by  the 
hair  of  my  head.  Forgive  me ! "  And  with  that  word 
she  was  a  mouse  again. 

"  Eh,  but  women  are  kittle  cattle  to  drive,"  said  poor 
Dick  ruefully.  And  down  he  sat  at  a  nonplus,  and  very 
unhappy. 


A  SmPLETON.  169 

Phoebe  sat  opposite,  sullen,  heart-sick,  wretched  to  the 
core ;  but  determined  not  to  leave  Reginald. 

Then  came  an  event  that  might  have  been  foreseen, 
yet  it  took  them  both  by  surprise. 

A  light  step  Tvas  heard,  and  a  graceful,  though  seedy, 
figure  entered  the  room  with  a  set  speech  in  his  mouth  : 
"Phoebe,  you  are  right.  I  owe  it  to  your  long  and  faith- 
ful affection  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  you.  I  will  go  to 
Africa  with  you.  I  will  go  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
sooner  than  you  shall  say  I  care  for  any  Avoman  on  earth 
but  you." 

Both  brother  and  sister  were  so  unprepared  for  this, 
that  they  could  hardly  realize  it  at  first. 

Phoebe  turned  her  great,  inquiring  eyes  on  the  speaker, 
and  it  was  a  sight  to  see  amazement,  doubt,  hope,  and 
happiness  animating  her  features,  one  after  another. 

"  Is  this  real  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  will  sail  with  you  to-morrow,  Phcebe ;  and  I  will 
make  you  a  good  husband,  if  you  will  have  me." 

"That  is  spoke  like  a  man,"  said  Dick.  "You  take 
him  at  his  word,  Phoebe ;  and  if  he  ill-uses  you  out  there, 
I'll  break  every  bone  in  his  skin." 

"  How  dare  you  threaten  him  ?  "  said  Phcebe.  "  You 
had  best  leave  the  room." 

Out  went  poor  Dick,  with  the  tear  in  his  eye  at  being 
snubbed  so.  "While  he  was  putting  up  the  shutters, 
Phoebe  was  making  love  to  her  pseudo  penitent.  "  My 
dear,"  said  she,  "  trust  yourself  to  me.  You  don't  know 
all  my  love  yet ;  for  I  have  never  been  your  wife,  and  I 
would  not  be  your  jade ;  that  is  the  only  thing  I  ever 
refused  you.  Trust  yourself  to  me.  Why,  you  never 
found  happiness  with  others ;  try  it  with  me.  It  shall 
be  the  best  day's  work  you  ever  did,  going  out  in  the 
ship  with  me.  You  don't  know  how  happy  a  loving  wife 
can  make  her  husband.     I'll  pet  you  out  there  as  man 


170  A   SIMPLETON. 

was  nerer  petted.  And  besides,  it  isn't  for  life;  Dick 
and  me  will  soon  make  a  fortune  out  there,  and  then  I'll 
bring  you  home,  and  see  you  spend  it  any  way  you  like 
but  one.  Oh,  how  I  love  you !  do  you  love  me  a  little  ? 
I  worship  the  ground  you  walk  on.  I  adore  every  hair 
of  your  head ! "  Her  noble  arm  went  round  his  neck  in 
a  moment,  and  the  grandeur  of  her  passion  electrified 
him  so  far  that  he  kissed  her  affectionately,  if  not  quite 
so  warmly  as  she  did  him :  and  so  it  was  all  settled. 
The  maid  was  discharged  that  night  instead  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  Keginald  was  to  occupy  her  bed.  Phoebe  went 
up-stairs  with  her  heart  literally  on  fire,  to  prepare  his 
sleeping-room,  and  so  Dick  and  Reginald  had  a  word. 

"  I  say,  Dick,  how  long  will  this  voyage  be  ?  " 

"  Two  months,  sir,  I  am  told." 

"  Please  to  cast  your  eyes  on  this  suit  of  mine.  Don't 
you  think  it  is  rather  seedy  —  to  go  to  Africa  with? 
Why,  I  shall  disgrace  you  on  board  the  ship.  I  say, 
Dick,  lend  me  three  sovs.,  just  to  buy  a  new  suit  at  the 
slop-shop." 

"  Well,  brother-in-law,"  said  Dick,  "  I  don't  see  any 
harm  in  that.     I'll  go  and  fetch  them  for  you." 

What  does  this  sensible  Dick  do  but  go  up-stairs  to 
Phoebe,  and  say,  "  He  wants  three  pounds  to  buy  a  suit ; 
am  I  to  lend  it  him  ?  " 

Phoebe  was  shaking  and  patting  her  penitent's  pillow. 
She  dropped  it  on  the  bed  in  dismay.  ''Oh,  Dick,  not 
for  all  the  world !  Why,  if  he  had  three  sovereigns,  he'd 
desert  me  at  the  water's  edge.  Oh,  God  help  me,  how  I 
love  him  !  God  forgive  me,  how  I  mistrust  him  !  Good 
Dick !  kind  Dick !  say  we  have  suits  of  clothes,  and 
we'll  fit  him  like  a  prince,  as  he  ought  to  be,  on  board 
ship ;  but  not  a  shilling  of  money  :  and,  my  dear,  don't 
put  the  weight  on  me.     You  understand  ?  " 

"  Ay,  mistresS;  I  understand." 


A   SIMPLETON.  171 

"Good  Dick!" 

"  Oh,  all  right !  and  then  don't  you  snap  this  here 
good,  kind  Dick's  nose  off  at  a  word  again." 

''Never.  I  get  wild  if  anybody  threatens  him.  Then 
I'm  not  myself.  Forgive  my  hasty  tongue.  You  know 
I  love  you,  dear  !  " 

"  Oh,  ay  !  you  love  me  well  enough.  But  seems  to  me 
your  love  is  precious  like  cold  veal,  and  your  love  for 
that  chap  is  hot  roast  beef." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"  Oh,  ye  can  laugh  now,  can  ye  ?  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"Well,  the  more  of  that  music,  the  better  for  me." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  go  and  tell  him." 

Dick  went  down,  and  said,  "I've  got  no  money  to 
spare,  till  I  get  to  the  Cape ;  but  Phoebe  has  got  a  box 
full  of  suits,  and  I  made  her  promise  to  keep  it  out. 
She  will  dress  you  like  a  prince,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  Oh,  that  is  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Reginald  dryly. 

Dick  made  no  reply. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  were  on  board  the  vessel ;  at  ten 
she  weighed  anchor,  and  a  steam-vessel  drew  her  down 
the  river  about  thirty  miles,  then  cast  off,  and  left  her  to 
the  south-easterly  breeze.  Up  went  sail  after  sail ;  she 
nodded  her  lofty  head,  and  glided  away  for  Africa. 

Phoebe  shed  a  few  natural  tears  at  leaving  the  shores 
of  Old  England ;  but  they  soon  dried.  She  was  demurely 
happy,  watching  her  prize,  and  asking  herself  had  she 
really  secured  it,  and  all  in  a  few  hours  ? 

They  had  a  prosperous  voyage  :  were  married  at  Cape 
Town,  and  went  up  the  country,  bag  and  baggage,  look- 
ing out  for  a  good  bargain  in  land.  Reginald  was  mounted 
on  an  English  horse,  and  allowed  to  zigzag  about,  and 
shoot,  and  play,  while  his  wife  and  brother-in-law  marched 
slowly  with  their  cavalcade. 


172  A   SIMPLETON. 

What  with  air,  exercise,  wholesome  food,  and  smiles 
of  welcome,  and  delicious  petting,  this  egotist  enjoyed 
himself  finely.  He  admitted  as  much.  Says  he,  one 
evening  to  his  wife,  who  sat  by  him  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  feed,  "  It  sounds  absurd ;  but  I  never  was  so 
happy  in  all  my  life." 

At  that,  the  celestial  expression  of  her  pastoral  face, 
and  the  maternal  gesture  with  which  she  drew  her  pet's 
head  to  her  queenly  bosom,  was  a  picture  for  celibacy  to 
gnash  the  teeth  at. 


A  SIMPLETON.  173 


CHAPTER   IX. 

During  this  period,  the  most  remarkable  things  that 
happened  to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Staines  were  really  those  whieli 
I  have  related  as  connecting  them  with  Phoebe  Dale  and 
her  brother ;  to  which  I  will  now  add  that  Dr.  Staines 
detailed  Dick's  case  in  a  remarkable  paper,  entitled 
"  (Edema  of  the  Glottis,"  and  showed  how  the  patient 
had  been  brought  back  from  the  grave  by  tracheotomy 
and  artificial  respiration.  He  received  a  high  price  for 
this  article. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  careful  not  to  admit  that  it 
was  he  who  had  opened  the  windpipe  ;  so  the  credit  of 
the  whole  operation  was  given  to  Mr.  Jenkyn ;  and  this 
gentleman  was  naturally  pleased,  and  threw  a  good  many 
consultation  fees  in  Staines's  way. 

The  Lucases,  to  his  great  comfort  —  for  he  had  an 
instinctive  aversion  to  Miss  Lucas  —  left  London  for 
Paris  in  August,  and  did  not  return  all  the  year. 

In  February  he  reviewed  his  year's  work  and  twelve 
months'  residence  in  the  Bijou.  The  pecuniary  result 
was,  outgoings,  nine  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ;  income, 
from  fees,  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds;  writing, 
ninety  pounds. 

He  showed  these  figures  to  Mrs.  Staines,  and  asked 
her  if  she  could  suggest  any  diminution  of  expenditure. 
Could  she  do  with  less  housekeeping  money  ? 

"  Oh,  impossible  !    You  cannot  think  how  the  servants 
eat ;  and  they  won't  touch  our  home-made  bread." 
.   ''The  fools!    Why? 

"  Oh,  because  they  think  it  costs  us  less.     Servants 


174  A  SIMPLETON. 

seem  to  me  always  to  hate  the  people  whose  bread  they 
eat." 

"More  likely  it  is  their  vanity.  Nothing  that  is  not 
paid  for  before  their  eyes  seems  good  enough  for  them. 
Well,  dear,  the  bakers  will  revenge  us.  But  is  there  any 
other  item  we  could  reduce  ?     Dress  ?  " 

"  Dress  !     Why,  I  spend  nothing." 

"Forty -five  pounds  this  year." 

"  Well,  I  shall  want  none  next  year." 

"  Well,  then,  Rosa,  as  there  is  nothing  we  can  reduce, 
I  must  write  more,  and  take  more  fees,  or  we  shall  be  in 
the  wrong  box.  Only  eight  hundred  and  sixty  pounds 
left  of  our  little  capital ;  and,  mind,  we  have  not  another 
shilling  in  the  world.  One  comfort,  there  is  no  debt. 
We  pay  ready  money  for  everything." 

Rosa  colored  a  little,  but  said  nothing. 

Staines  did  his  part  nobly.  He  read;  he  wrote;  he 
paced  the  yard.  He  wore  his  old  clothes  in  the  house ; 
he  took  off  his  new  ones  when  he  came  in.  He  was  all 
genius,  drudgery,  patience. 

How  Phoebe  Dale  would  have  valued  him,  co-operated 
with  him,  and  petted  him,  if  she  had  had  the  good  luck 
to  be  his  wife  ! 

The  season  came  back,  and  with  it  Miss  Lucas,  towing 
a  brilliant  bride,  Mrs.  Vivian,  young,  rich,  pretty,  and 
gay,  with  a  waist  you  could  span,  and  athirst  for  pleasure. 

This  lady  was  the  first  that  ever  made  Rosa  downright 
jealous.  She  seemed  to  have  everything  the  female 
heart  could  desire ;  and  she  was  No.  1  with  Miss  Lucas 
this  year.  Now,  Rosa  was  No.  1  last  season,  and  had 
weakly  imagined  that  was  to  last  forever.  But  Miss 
Lucas  had  always  a  sort  of  female  flame,  and  it  never 
lasted  two  seasons. 

Rosa  did  not  care  so  very  much  for  Miss  Lucas  before, 
except  as  a  convenient  friend ;  but  now  she  was  mortified 


A  SIMPLETON.  175 

to  tears  at  finding  Miss  Lucas  made  more  fuss  with 
another  than  with  her. 

This  foolish  feeling  spurred  her  to  attempt  a  rivalry 
with  Mrs.  Vivian,  in  the  very  things  where  rivalry  was 
hopeless. 

Miss  Lucas  gave  both  ladies  tickets  for  a  flower- 
show,  where  all  the  great  folk  were  to  be,  princes  and 
princesses,  etc. 

"  But  I  have  nothing  to  wear,"  sighed  Rosa. 

"Then  you  must  get  something,  and  mind  it  is  not 
pink,  please;  for  we  must  not  clash  in  colors.  You 
know  I'm  dark,  and  pink  becomes  me.  (The  selfish 
young  brute  was  not  half  so  dark  as  Rosa.)  Mine  is 
coming  from  Worth's,  in  Paris,  on  purpose.  And  this 
new  Madame  Cie,  of  Regent  Street,  has  such  a  duck  of 
a  bonnet,  just  come  from  Paris.  She  wanted  to  make 
me  one  from  it ;  but  I  told  her  I  would  have  none  but 
the  pattern  bonnet  —  and  she  knows  very  well  she  can't 
pass  a  copy  off  on  me.  Let  me  drive  you  up  there,  and 
you  can  see  mine,  and  order  one,  if  you  like  it." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  let  me  just  run  and  speak  to  my 
husband  first." 

Staines  was  writing  for  the  bare  life,  and  a  number  of 
German  books  about  him,  slaving  to  make  a  few  pounds 
—  when  in  comes  the  buoyant  figure  and  beaming  face 
his  soul  delighted  in. 

He  laid  down  his  work,  to  enjoy  the  sunbeam  of  love. 

"Oh,  darling,  I've  only  come  in  for  a  minute.  We 
are  going  to  a  flower-show  on  the  13th ;  everybody  will 
be  so  beautifully  dressed  —  especially  that  Mrs.  Vivian. 
I  have  got  ten  yards  of  beautiful  blue  silk  in  my  Avard- 
robe,  but  that  is  not  enough  to  make  a  whole  dress  — 
everything  takes  so  much  stuff  now.  Madame  Cie  does 
not  care  to  make  up  dresses  unless  she  finds  the  silk,  but 
Miss  Lucas  says  she  thinks,  to  oblige  a  friend  of  hers, 


176  A   SIMPLETON. 

she  would  do  it  for  once  in  a  way.  You  know,  dear,  it 
would  only  take  a  few  yards  more,  and  it  would  last  as  a 
dinner-dress  for  ever  so  long." 

Then  she  clasped  him  round  the  neck,  and  leaned  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  looked  lovingly  up  in  his 
face.  "I  know  you  would  like  your  Rosa  to  look  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Vivian." 

"No  one  ever  looks  as  well,  in  my  eyes,  as  my  Rosa. 
There,  the  dress  will  add  nothing  to  your  beauty ;  but 
go  and  get  it,  to  please  yourself;  it  is  very  considerate 
of  you  to  have  chosen  something  of  which  you  have  ten 
yards,  already.  See,  dear,  I'm  to  receive  twenty  pounds 
for  this  article ;  if  research  was  paid  it  ought  to  be  a 
hundred.  I  shall  add  it  all  to  your  allowance  for  dresses 
this  year.  So  no  debt,  mind ;  but  come  to  me  for  every- 
thing." 

The  two  ladies  drove  off  to  Madame  Cie's,  a  pretty 
shop  lined  with  dark  velvet  and  lace  draperies. 

In  the  back  room  they  were  packiiag  a  lovely  bridal 
dress,  going  off  the  following  Saturday  to  New  York. 

''  What,  send  from  America  to  London  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Cie.  "  The 
American  ladies  are  excellent  customers.  They  buy 
everything  of  the  best,  and  the  most  expensive." 

"  I  have  brought  a  new  customer,"  said  Miss  Lucas ; 
"  and  I  want  you  to  do  a  great  favor,  and  that  is  to  match 
a  blue  silk,  and  make  her  a  pretty  dress  for  the  flower- 
show  on  the  13th." 

Madame  Cie  prodviced  a  white  muslin  polonaise,  which 

she  was  just  going  to  send  home  to  the  Princess ,  to 

be  worn  over  mauve. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  and  simple  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lucas. 

"  I  have  some  lace  exactly  like  that,"  said  Mrs.  Staines. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  have  a  polonaise  ?  The  lace  is 
the  only  expensive  part,  the  muslin  is  a  mere  nothing ; 


A   SIMPLETON.  177 

and  it  is  such  a  useful  dress,  it  can  be  worn  over  any- 
silk." 

It  was  agreed  Madame  Cie  was  to  send  for  the  blue 
silk  and  the  lace,  and  the  dresses  were  to  be  tried  on  on 
Thursday. 

On  Thursday,  as  Rosa  went  gayly  into  Madame  Cie's 
back  room  to  have  the  dresses  tried  on,  Madame  Cie 
said,  "You  have  a  beautiful  lace  shawl,  but  it  wants 
arranging;  in  five  minutes  I  could  astonish  you  with 
what  I  could  do  to  that  shawl." 

"  Oh,  pray  do,"  said  Mrs.  Staines. 

The  dressmaker  kept  her  word.  By  the  time  the  blue 
dress  was  tried  on,  Madame  Cie  had,  with  the  aid  of  a 
few  pins,  plaits,  and  a  bow  of  blue  ribbon,  transformed 
the  half  lace  shawl  into  one  of  the  smartest  and  distingiiS 
things  imaginable ;  but  when  the  bill  came  in  at  Christ- 
mas, for  that  five  minutes'  labor  and  distingue  touch,  she 
charged  one  pound  eight. 

Madame  Cie  then  told  the  ladies,  in  an  artfully  confi- 
dential tone,  she  had  a  quantity  of  black  silk  coming 
home,  which  she  had  purchased  considerably  below  cost 
price;  and  that  she  should  like  to  make  them  each  a 
dress  —  not  for  her  own  sake,  but  theirs  —  as  she  knew 
they  would  never  meet  such  a  bargain  again.  "You 
know.  Miss  Lucas,"  she  continued,  "  we  don't  want  our 
money,  when  we  know  our  customers.  Christmas  is 
soon  enough  for  us." 

"Christmas  is  a  long  time  off,"  thought  the  young 
wife,  "  nearly  ten  months.  I  think  I'll  have  a  black  silk, 
Madame  Cie ;  but  I  must  not  say  anything  to  the  doctor 
about  it  just  yet,  or  he  might  think  me  extravagant." 

"No  one  can  ever  think  a  lady  extravagant  for  buying 
a  black  silk;  it's  such  a  useful  dress;  lasts  forever  — 
almost." 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  rolled  on,  and  with  them  au 


178  A  SIMPLETON. 

ever-rolling  tide  of  flower-shows,  dinners,  at-homes,  balls, 
operas,  lawn-parties,  concerts,  and  theatres. 

Strange  that  in  one  house  there  should  be  two  people 
who  loved  each  other,  yet  their  lives  ran  so  far  apart, 
except  while  they  were  asleep :  the  man  all  industry, 
self-denial,  patience ;  the  woman  all  frivolity,  self-indul- 
gence, and  amusement ;  both  chained  to  an  oar,  only  — 
one  in  a  working  boat,  the  other  in  a  painted  galley. 

The  woman  got  tired  first,  and  her  charming  color 
waned  sadly.  She  came  to  him  for  medicine  to  set  her 
up,     "  I  feel  so  languid." 

"  No,  no,"  said  he ;  "  no  medicine  can  do  the  work  of 
wholesome  food  and  rational  repose.  You  lack  the 
season  of  all  natures,  sleep.  Dine  at  home  three  days 
running,  and  go  to  bed  at  ten." 

On  this  the  doctor's  wife  went  to  a  chemist  for  advice. 
He  gave  her  a  pink  stimulant ;  and,  as  stimulants  have 
two  effects,  viz.,  first  to  stimulate,  and  then  to  weaken, 
this  did  her  no  lasting  good.  Dr.  Staines  cursed  the 
London  season,  and  threatened  to  migrate  to  Liver- 
pool. 

But  there  was  worse  behind. 

Returning  one  day  to  his  dressing-room,  just  after 
Eosa  had  come  down-stairs,  he  caught  sight  of  a  red  stain 
in  a  wash-hand-basin.  He  examined  it ;  it  was  arterial 
blood. 

He  went  to  her  directly,  and  expressed  his  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  said  she. 

"  Nothing !     Pray,  how  often  has  it  occurred  ?  " 

"Once  or  twice.  I  must  take  your  advice,  and  be 
quiet,  that  is  all." 

Staines  examined  the  housemaid;  she  lied  instinc- 
tively at  first,  seeing  he  was  alarmed ;  but,  being  urged 
to  tell  the  truth,  said  she  had  seen  it  repeatedly,  and  had 
told  the  cook. 


A  SIMPLETOl^.  179 

He   went   down-stairs   again,  and   sat   down,  looking 
wretched. 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  said  Eosa.     "  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 
"  Rosa,"  said  he,  very  gravely,  "  there  are  two  people 
a  woman  is  mad  to  deceive  —  her  husband  and  her  phy- 
sician.    You  have  deceived  both." 


180  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  X. 

I  SUSPECT  Dr.  Staines  merely  meant  to  say  that  she 
had  concealed  from  him  an  alarming  symptom  for  several 
weeks ;  but  she  answered  in  a  hurry,  to  excuse  herself, 
and  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  —  excuse  my  vulgarity. 

"  It  was  all  that  Mrs.  Vivian's  fault.  She  laughed  at 
me  so  for  not  wearing  them ;  and  she  has  a  waist  you 
can  span  —  the  wretch ! " 

"Oh,  then,  you  have  been  wearing  stays  clandes- 
tinely ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know  I  have.  Oh,  what  a  stupid !  I  have 
let  it  all  out." 

"  How  could  you  do  it,  when  you  knew,  by  experience, 
it  is  your  death  ?  " 

"  But  it  looks  so  beautiful,  a  tiny  waist." 

"  It  looks  as  hideous  as  a  Chinese  foot,  and,  to  the  eye 
of  science,  far  more  disgusting;  it  is  the  cause  of  so 
many  unlovely  diseases." 

"Just  tell  me  one  thing;  have  you  looked  at  Mrs. 
Vivian  ?  " 

"Minutely.  I  look  at  all  your  friends  with  great 
anxiety,  knowing  no  animal  more  dangerous  than  a  fool. 
Vivian  —  a  skinny  woman,  with  a  pretty  face,  lovely 
hair,  good  teeth,  dying  eyes  "  — 

"  Yes,  lovely  ! " 

"A  sure  proof  of  a  disordered  stomach  —  and  a  waist 
pinched  in  so  unnaturally,  that  I  said  to  myself,  *  Where 
on  earth  does  this  idiot  put  her  liver  ? '  Did  you  ever 
read  of  the  frog  who  burst,  trying  to  swell  to  an  ox  ? 
Well,  here  is  the  rivalry  reversed ;  Mrs.  Vivian  is  a  bag 


A   SIMPLETON.  181 

of  bones  in  a  balloon;  she  can  machine  herself  into  a 
wasp ;  but  a  fine  young  woman  like  you,  with  flesh  and 
muscle,  must  kill  yourself  three  or  four  times  before 
you  can  make  your  body  as  meagre,  hideous,  angular, 
and  unnatural  as  Vivian's.  But  all  you  ladies  are  mono- 
maniacs ;  one  might  as  well  talk  sense  to  a  gorilla.  It 
brought  you  to  the  edge  of  the  grave.  I  saved  you.  Yet 
you  could  go  and  —  God  grant  me  patience.  So  I  sup- 
pose these  unprincipled  women  lent  you  their  stays  to 
deceive  your  husband  ?  " 

"No.  But  they  laughed  at  me  so  that  —  Oh, 
Christie,  I'm  a  wretch;  I  kept  a  pair  at  the  Lucases, 
and  a  pair  at  Madame  Cie's,  and  I  put  them  on  now  and 
then." 

"  But  you  never  appeared  here  in  them  ?  " 

"  What,  before  my  tyrant  ?     Oh  no,  I  dared  not." 

"  So  you  took  them  off  before  you  came  home  ?  " 

Kosa  hung  her  head,  and  said  "Yes"  in  a  reluctant 
whisper. 

"  You  spent  your  daylight  dressing.  You  dressed  to 
go  out ;  dressed  again  in  stays ;  dressed  again  without 
them ;  and  all  to  deceive  your  husband,  and  kill  your- 
self, at  the  bidding  of  two  shallow,  heartless  women, 
who  would  dance  over  your  grave  without  a  pang  of 
remorse,  or  sentiment  of  any  kind,  since  they  live,  like 
midges,  only  to  dance  in  the  sun,  aiid  suck  some  ivorker's 
blood:' 

"  Oh,  Christie !  I'm  so  easily  led.  I  am  too  great  a 
fool  to  live.     Kill  me  !" 

And  she  kneeled  down,  and  renewed  the  request,  look- 
ing up  in  his  face  with  an  expression  that  might  have 
disarmed  Cain  ipsum. 

He  smiled  superior.  "  The  question  is,  are  you  sorry 
you  have  been  so  thoughtless  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.     Oh  !  oh ! " 


182  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Will  you  be  very  good  to  make  up  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  Only  tell  me  how;  for  it  does  not  come 
natural  to  poor  me." 

"  Keep  out  of  those  women's  way  for  the  rest  of  the 
season." 

"I  will." 

"  Bring  your  stays  home,  and  allow  me  to  do  what  I 
like  with  them." 

"  Of  course.     Cut  them  in  a  million  pieces." 

"  Till  you  are  recovered,  joii  must  be  my  patient,  and 
go  nowhere  without  me." 

"  That  is  no  punishment,  I  am  sure." 

"  Punishment !  Am  I  the  man  to  punish  you  ?  I  only 
want  to  save  you." 

"  Well,  darling,  it  won't  be  the  first  time." 

"  No ;  but  I  do  hope  it  will  be  the  last." 


A  SIMPLETON.  183 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  Sublatd  causa  tollitur  effectusP  The  stays  being 
gone,  and  dissipation  moderated,  Mrs.  Staines  bloomed 
again,  and  they  gave  one  or  two  unpretending  little 
dinners  at  the  Bijou.  Dr.  Staines  admitted  no  false 
friends  to  these.  They  never  went  beyond  eight;  five 
gentlemen,  three  ladies.  By  this  arrangement  the  terri- 
ble discursiveness  of  the  fair,  and  man's  cruel  disposi- 
tion to  work  a  subject  threadbare,  were  controlled  and 
modified,  and  a  happy  balance  of  conversation  established. 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne  was  always  invited,  and  always 
managed  to  come ;  for  she  said,  "  They  were  the  most 
agweeable  little  paaties  in  London,  and  the  host  and 
hostess  both  so  intewesting."  In  the  autumn,  Staines 
worked  double  tides  with  the  pen,  and  found  a  vehicle 
for  medical  narratives  in  a  weekly  magazine  that  did 
not  profess  medicine. 

This  new  vein  put  him  in  heart.  His  fees,  towards 
the  end  of  the  year,  were  less  than  last  year,  because 
there  was  no  hundred-guinea  fee;  but  there  was  a 
marked  increase  in  the  small  fees,  and  the  unflagging 
pen  had  actually  earned  him  two  hundred  pounds,  or 
nearly.     So  he  was  in  good  spirits. 

Not  so  Mrs.  Staines ;  for  some  time  she  had  been 
uneasy,  fretful,  and  like  a  person  with  a  weight  on  her 
mind. 

One  Sunday  she  said  to  him,  "Oh,  dear,  I  do  feel  so 
dull.  Nobody  to  go  to  church  with,  nor  yet  to  the 
Zoo." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Staines. 


184  A   SIMPLETON. 

"You  will!     To  which?" 

"  To  both ;  in  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound." 

So  to  church  they  went ;  and  Staines,  whose  motto  was 
"Hoc  age"  minded  his  book.  Rosa  had  intervals  of 
attention  to  the  words,  but  found  plenty  of  time  to 
study  the  costumes. 

During  the  Litany  in  bustled  Clara,  the  housemaid, 
with  a  white  jacket  on  so  like  her  mistress's,  that  Rosa 
clutched  her  own  convulsively,  to  see  whether  she  had 
not  been  skinned  of  it  by  some  devilish  sleight-of-hand. 

No,  it  was  on  her  back ;  but  Clara's  was  identical. 

In  her  excitement,  Rosa  pinched  Staines,  and  with  her 
nose,  that  went  like  a  water-wagtail,  pointed  out  the 
malefactor.  Then  she  whispered,  "  Look !  How  dare 
she  ?  My  very  jacket !  Earrings  too,  and  brooches,  and 
dresses  her  hair  like  mine." 

''  Well,  never  mind,"  whispered  Staines.  "  Sunday  is 
her  day.  We  have  got  all  the  week  to  shine.  There, 
don't  look  at  her — 'From  all  evil  speaking,  lying,  and 
slandering ' "  — 

"  I  can't  keep  my  eyes  off  her." 

*'  Attend  to  the  Litany.  Do  you  know,  this  is  really  a 
beautiful  composition  ?  " 

"  I'd  rather  do  the  work  fifty  times  over  myself." 

"  Hush !  people  will  hear  you." 

When  they  walked  home  after  church,  Staines  tried  to 
divert  her  from  the  consideration  of  her  wrongs;  but 
no  —  all  other  topics  were  too  flat  by  comparison. 

She  mourned  the  hard  fate  of  mistresses  —  unfortu- 
nate creatures  that  could  not  do  without  servants. 

"Is  not  that  a  confession  that  servants  are  good, 
useful  creatures,  with  all  their  faults  ?  Then  as  to  the 
mania  for  dress,  why,  that  is  not  confined  to  them.  It 
is  the  mania  of  the  sex.     Are  you  free  from  it  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.     But  I  am  a  lady,  if  you  please." 


A   SIMPLETON.  185 

"Then  she  is  your  intellectual  inferior,  and  more 
excusable.  Anyway,  it  is  wise  to  connive  at  a  thing  we 
can't  help." 

"  Wliat  keep  her,  after  this  ?  no,  never." 

"  My  dear,  pray  do  not  send  her  away,  for  she  is  tidy 
in  the  house,  and  quick,  and  better  than  any  one  we  have 
had  this  last  six  months ;  and  you  know  you  have  tried 
a  great  number." 

"  To  hear  you  speak,  one  would  think  it  was  my  fault 
that  we  have  so  many  bad  servants." 

"  I  never  said  it  was  your  fault ;  but  I  think,  dearest, 
a  little  more  forbearance  in  trifles  "  — 

"  Trifles  !  trifles  —  for  a  mistress  and  maid  to  be  seen 
dressed  alike  in  the  same  church  ?  You  take  the  serv- 
ants' part  against  me,  that  you  do." 

"You  should  not  say  that,  even  in  jest.  Come  now, 
do  you  really  think  a  jacket  like  yours  can  make  the 
servant  look  like  you,  or  detract  from  your  grace  and 
beauty  ?  There  is  a  very  simple  way  ;  put  your  jacket 
by  for  a  future  occasion,  and  wear  something  else  in  its 
stead  at  church." 

"A  nice  thing,  indeed,  to  give  in  to  these  creatures. 
I  won't  do  it." 

"  Why  won't  you,  this  once  ?  " 

"Because  I  won't  —  there  !" 

"  That  is  unanswerable,"  said  he. 

Mrs.  Staines  said  that;  but  when  it  came  to  acting, 
she  deferred  to  her  husband's  wish;  she  resigned  her 
intention  of  sending  for  Clara  and  giving  her  warning. 
On  the  contrary,  when  Clara  let  her  in,  and  the  white 
jackets  rubbed  together  in  the  narrow  passage,  she 
actually  said  nothing,  but  stalked  to  her  own  room,  and 
tore  her  jacket  off,  and  flung  it  on  the  floor. 

Unfortunately,  she  was  so  long  dressing  for  the  Zoo, 
that  Clara  came  in  to  arrange  the  room.     She  picks  up 


186  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  white  jacket,  takes  it  in  both  hands,  gives  it  a  flap, 
and  proceeds  to  hang  it  up  in  the  wardrobe. 

Then  the  great  feminine  heart  burst  its  bounds. 

"You  can  leave  that  alone.  I  shall  not  wear  that 
again." 

Thereupon  ensued  an  uneven  encounter,  Clara  being 
one  of  those  of  whom  the  Scripture  says,  "The  poison 
of  asps  is  under  their  tongues." 

"  La,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  why,  'tain't  so  very  dirty." 

"  No ;  but  it  is  too  common." 

"  Oh,  because  I've  got  one  like  it.  Ay.  Missises  can't 
abide  a  good-looking  servant,  nor  to  see  'em  dressed 
becoming." 

"  Mistresses  do  not  like  servants  to  forget  their  place, 
nor  wear  what  does  not  become  their  situation." 

"  My  situation !  Why,  I  can  pay  my  way,  go  where  I 
will.  I  don't  tremble  at  the  tradesmen's  knock,  as 
some  do." 

"  Leave  the  room  !     Leave  it  this  moment." 

"  Leave  the  room,  yes  —  and  I'll  leave  the  house  too, 
and  tell  all  the  neighbors  what  I  know  about  it." 

She  flounced  out  and  slammed  the  door;  and  Rosa 
sat  down,  trembling. 

Clara  rushed  to  the  kitchen,  and  there  told  the  cook 
and  Andrew  Pearman  how  she  had  given  it  to  the 
mistress,  and  every  word  she  had  said  to  her,  with  a 
good  many  more  she  had  not. 

The  cook  laughed  and  encouraged  her. 

But  Andrew  Pearman  was  wroth,  and  said,  "  You  to 
affront  our  mistress  like  that !  Why,  if  I  had  heard  you, 
I'd  have  twisted  your  neck  for  ye." 

"  It  would  take  a  better  man  than  you  to  do  that.  You 
mind  you.r  own  business.     Stick  to  your  one-horse  chay." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  above  my  place,  for  that  matter.  But 
you  gals  must  always  be  aping  your  betters." 


A   SBIPLETON.  187 

"  I  have  got  a  proper  pride,  that  is  all,  and  you  haven't. 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  do  two  men's 
work ;  drive  a  brougham  and  wait  on  a  horse,  and  then 
come  in  and  wait  at  table,  You  are  a  tea-kettle  groom, 
that  is  what  you  are.  Why,  my  brother  was  coachman 
to  Lord  Fitz-James,  and  gave  his  lordship  notice  the  first 
time  he  had  to  drive  the  children.  Says  he,  '1  don't 
object  to  the  children,  my  lord,  but  with  her  ladyship  in 
the  carriage.'  It's  such  servants  as  you  as  spoil  places. 
No  servant  as  knows  what's  due  to  a  servant  ought  to 
know  you.  They'd  scorn  your  'quaintance,  as  I  do,  Mr. 
Pearman." 

"  You  are  a  stuck-up  hussy,  and  a  soldier's  jade,"  roared 
Andrew. 

"  And  you  are  a  low  tea-kettle  groom." 

This  expression  wounded  the  great  equestrian  soul  to 
the  quick ;  the  rest  of  Sunday  he  pondered  on  it ;  the 
next  morning  he  drove  the  doctor,  as  usual,  but  with  a 
heavy  heart. 

Meantime,  the  cook  made  haste  and  told  the  baker 
Pearman  had  "  got  it  hot "  from  the  housemaid,  and  she 
had  called  him  a  tea-kettle  groom ;  and  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  after  that  it  was  in  every  stable  in  the  mews. 
Why,  as  Pearman  was  taking  the  horse  out  of  the 
brougham,  didn't  two  little  red-headed  urchins  call  out, 
"  Here,  come  and  see  the  tea-kettle  groom  ! "  and  at 
night  some  mischievous  boy  chalked  on  the  black  door 
of  the  stable  a  large  white  tea-kettle,  and  next  morning 
a  drunken,  idle  fellow,  with  a  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  a  dirty  pair  of  corduroy  trousers,  no  coat,  but  a  shirt 
very  open  at  the  chest,  showing  inflamed  skin,  the  effect 
of  drink,  inspected  that  work  of  art  with  blinking  eyes 
and  vacillating  toes,  and  said,  "  This  comes  of  a  chap 
doing  too  much.  A  few  more  like  you,  and  work  would 
be  scarce.     A  fine  thing  for  gentlefolks  to  make  one  man 


188  A   SIMPLETON. 

fill  two  places !  but  it  ain't  the  gentlefolks'  fault,  it's  the 
man  as  humors  'em." 

Pearman  was  a  peaceable  man,  and  made  no  rei)ly, 
but  went  on  with  his  work ;  only  during  the  day  he  told 
his  master  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  him  if  he  would 
fill  his  situation  as  soon  as  convenient. 

The  master  inquired  the  cause,  and  the  man  told  him, 
and  said  the  mews  was  too  hot  for  him. 

The  doctor  offered  him  five  pounds  a  year  more,  know- 
ing he  had  a  treasure ;  but  Pearman  said,  with  sadness 
and  firmness,  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and 
go  he  would. 

The  doctor's  heart  fairly  sank  at  the  prospect  of  losing 
the  one  creature  he  could  depend  upon. 

Next  Sunday  evening  Clara  was  out,  and  fell  in  with 
friends,  to  whom  she  exaggerated  her  grievance. 

Then  they  worked  her  up  to  fury,  after  the  manner  of 
servants'  friends.  She  came  home,  packed  her  box, 
brought  it  down,  and  then  flounced  into  the  room  to 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Staines,  and  said,  "  I  shan't  sleep 
another  night  in  this  house." 

Kosa  was  about  to  speak,  but  Dr.  Staines  forbade  her : 
he  said,  "  You  had  better  think  twice  of  that.  You  are 
a  good  servant,  though  for  once  you  have  been  betrayed 
into  speaking  disrespectfully.  Why  forfeit  your  charac- 
ter, and  three  weeks'  wages  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  my  wages.  I  won't  stay  in  such  a 
house  as  this." 

"  Come,  you  must  not  be  impertinent." 

"I  don't  mean  to,  sir,"  said  she,  lowering  her  voice 
suddenly ;  then,  raising  it  as  suddenly,  "  There  are  my 
keys,  ma'am,  and  you  can  search  my  box." 

"Mrs.  Staines  will  not  search  your  box ;  and  you  will 
retire  at  once  to  your  own  part  of  the  house." 

"I'll  go  farther  than  that,"  said  she,  and  soon  after 
the  street  door  was  slammed ;  the  Bijou  shook. 


A   SIMPLETON.  189 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  slie  came  for  her  box. 
It  had  been  put  aAvay  for  safety.  Pearman  told  her  she 
must  wait  till  the  doctor  came  down.  She  did  not  wait, 
but  went  at  eleven  a.m.  to  a  police-magistrate,  and  took 
out  a  summons  against  Dr.  Staines,  for  detaining  a  box 
containing  certain  articles  specified  —  value  under  fifteen 
pounds. 

When  Dr.  Staines  heard  she  had  been  for  her  box,  but 
left  no  address,  he  sent  Pearman  to  hunt  for  her.  He 
could  not  find  her.  She  avoided  the  house,  but  sent  a 
woman  for  her  diurnal  love  letters.  Dr.  Staines  sent 
the  woman  back  to  fetch  her.  She  came,  received  her 
box,  her  letters,  and  the  balance  of  her  wages,  which 
was  small,  for  Staines  deducted  the  three  weeks'  wages. 

Two  days  afterwards,  to  his  surprise,  the  summons 
was  served. 

Out  of  respect  for  a  court  of  justice,  however  humble. 
Dr.  Staines  attended  next  Monday  to  meet  the  sum- 
mons. 

The  magistrate  was  an  elderly  man,  with  a  face  shaped 
like  a  hog's,  but  much  richer  in  color,  being  purple  and 
pimply ;  so  foul  a  visage  Staines  had  rarely  seen,  even 
in  the  lowest  class  of  the  community. 

Clara  SAvore  that  her  box  had  been  opened,  and  certain 
things  stolen  out  of  it ;  and  that  she  had  been  refused 
the  box  next  morning. 

Staines  swore  that  he  had  never  opened  the  box,  and 
that,  if  any  one  else  had,  it  was  with  her  consent,  for 
she  had  left  the  keys  for  that  purpose.  He  bade  the 
magistrate  observe  that  if  a  servant  went  away  like  this, 
and  left  no  address,  she  put  it  out  of  the  master's  j^ower 
to  send  her  box  after  her;  and  he  proved  he  had  some 
trouble  to  force  the  box  on  her. 

The  pig-faced  beak  showed  a  manifest  leaning  towards 
the  servant,  but  there  wasn't  a  leg  to  stand  on ;  and  he 


190  A   SIMPLETON. 

did  not  believe,  nor  was  it  credible,  that  anything  had 
been  stolen  out  of  her  box. 

At  this  moment,  Pearman,  sent  by  Rosa,  entered  the 
court  with  an  old  gown  of  Clara's  that  had  been  discov- 
ered in  the  scullery,  and  a  scribbling-book  of  the  doc- 
tor's, which  Clara  had  appropriated,  and  written  amorous 
verses  in,  very  superior  —  in  number  —  to  those  that 
have  come  down  to  us  from  Anacreon. 

"  Hand  me  those,"  said  the  pig-faced  beak. 

"  What  are  they.  Dr.  Staines  ?  " 

''  I  really  don't  know.     I  must  ask  my  servant." 

"  Why,  more  things  of  mine  that  have  been  detained," 
said  Clara. 

"  Some  things  that  have  been  found  since  she  left," 
said  Staines. 

"  Oh !  those  that  hide  know  where  to  find." 

"Young  woman,"  said  Staines,  "do  not  insult  those 
whose  bread  you  have  eaten,  and  who  have  given  you 
many  presents  besides  your  wages.  Since  you  are  so 
ready  to  accuse  people  of  stealing,  permit  me  to  say  that 
this  book  is  mine,  and  not  yours ;  and  yet,  you  see,  it  is 
sent  after  you  because  you  have  written  your  trash  in  it." 

The  purple,  pig-faced  beak  went  instantly  out  of  the 
record,  and  wasted  a  deal  of  time  reading  Clara's  poetry, 
and  trying  to  be  witty.  He  raised  the  question  whose 
book  this  was.  The  girl  swore  that  it  was  given  her  by 
a  lady  who  was  now  in  Rome.  Staines  swore  he  bought 
it  of  a  certain  stationer,  and  happening  to  have  his  pass- 
book in  his  pocket,  produced  an  entry  corresponding 
with  the  date  of  the  book. 

The  pig-faced  beak  said  that  the  doctor's  was  an  im- 
probable story,  and  that  the  gown  and  the  book  were 
quite  enough  to  justify  the  summons.  Verdict,  one 
guinea  costs. 

"What,  because  two  things  she  never  demanded  have 


A  SIMPLETON.  191 

been  found  and  sent  after  her  ?  This  is  monstrous.  I 
shall  appeal  to  your  superiors." 

"If  you  are  impertinent  I'll  fine  you  five  pounds." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Now  hear  me :  if  this  is  an  honest 
judgment,  I  pray  God  I  may  be  dead  before  the  year's 
out ;  and,  if  it  isn't,  I  pray  God  you  may  be." 

Then  the  pig-faced  beak  fired  up,  and  threatened  to 
fine  him  for  blaspheming. 

He  deigned  no  reply,  but  paid  the  guinea,  and  Clara 
swept  out  of  the  court,  with  a  train  a  yard  long,  and 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  scarlet  soldier  who  avenged  Dr. 
Staines  with  military  promptitude. 

Christopher  went  home  raging  internally,  for  hitherto 
he  had  never  seen  so  gross  a  case  of  injustice. 

One  of  his  humble  patients  followed  him,  and  said,  "  I 
wish  I  had  known,  sir ;  you  shouldn't  have  come  here  to 
be  insulted.  Why,  no  gentleman  can  ever  get  justice 
against  a  servant  girl  when  he  is  sitting.  It  is  notorious, 
and  that  makes  these  hussies  so  bold.  I've  seen  that 
jade  here  with  the  same  story  twice  afore." 

Staines  reached  home  more  discomposed  than  he  could 
have  himself  believed.  The  reason  was  that  barefaced 
injustice  in  a  court  of  justice  shook  his  whole  faith  in 
man.  He  opened  the  street  door  with  his  latch-key,  and 
found  two  men  standing  in  the  passage.  He  inquired 
what  they  wanted. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  one  of  them,  civilly  enough,  "we 
only  want  our  due." 

"For  what  ?  " 

"For  goods  delivered  at  this  house,  sir.  Balance  of 
account."  And  he  handed  him  a  butcher's  bill,  £88, 
lis.  Bid. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken ;  we  run  no  bills  here.  We 
pay  ready  money  for  everything." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  butcher,  "  there  have  been  pay- 


192  A  SIMPLETON. 

inents;  but  tlie  balance  has  always  been  gaining;  and 
we  have  been  put  off  so  often,  we  determined  to  see  the 
master.     Show  you  the  books,  sir,  and  welcome." 

"  This  instant,  if  you  please."  He  took  the  butcher's 
address,  who  then  retired,  and  the  other  tradesman,  a 
grocer,  told  him  a  similar  tale ;  balance,  sixty  pounds 
odd. 

He  went  to  the  butcher's,  sick  at  heart,  inspected  the 
books,  and  saw  that,  right  or  wrong,  they  were  incontro- 
vertible ;  that  debt  had  been  gaining  slowly,  but  surely, 
almost  from  the  time  he  confided  the  accounts  to  his 
wife.  She  had  kept  faith  with  him  about  five  weeks,  no 
more. 

The  grocer's  books  told  a  similar  tale. 

The  debtor  put  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  stood  a 
moment.  The  very  grocer  pitied  him,  and  said,  "  There's 
no  hurry,  doctor ;  a  trifle  on  account,  if  settlement  in  full 
not  convenient  just  now.  I  see  you  have  been  kept  in 
the  dark." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Christopher ;  "  I'll  pay  every  shilling." 
He  gave  one  gulp,  and  hurried  away. 

At  the  fishmonger's,  the  same  story,  only  for  a  smaller 
amount. 

A  bill  of  nineteen  pounds  at  the  very  pastrycook's ;  a 
place  she  had  promised  him,  as  her  physician,  never  to 
enter. 

At  the  draper's,  thirty-seven  pounds  odd. 

In  short,  wherever  she  had  dealt,  the  same  system : 
partial  payments,  and  ever-growing  debt. 

Remembering  Madame  Cie,  he  drove  in  a  cab  to  Regent 
Street,  and  asked  for  Mrs.  Staines's  account. 

"  Shall  I  send  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  will  take  it  with  me." 

"Miss  Edwards,  make  out  Mrs.  Staines's  account,  if 
you  please." 


A  SEVIPLETON.  193 

Miss  Edwards  was  a  good  while  making  it  out ;  but 
it  was  ready  at  last.  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  with- 
out daring  to  look  at  it  there  ;  but  he  went  into  Verrey's, 
and  asked  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  perused  the  document. 

The  principal  items  were  as  follows :  — 

£    «. 

May  4.       Re-shaping  and  repairing  elegant  lace  mantle,    1    8 
Chip  bonnet,  feather,  and  flowers    ....    4    4 
May  20.     Making  and  trimming  blue  silk  dress  —  mate- 
rial part  found 19  19 

Five  yards  rich  blue  silk  to  match  ....    4    2 
June  1.       Polonaise  and  jacket  trimmed  with  lace  — 

material  part  found 17  17 

June  8.       One  black  silk  dress,  handsomely  trimmed 

with  jet  guipure  and  lace 49  18 

A  few  shreds  and  fragments  of  finery,  bought  at  odd 
times,  swelled  the  bill  to  £99  lis.  6(/.  —  not  to  terrify  the 
female  mind  with  three  figures. 

And  let  no  unsophisticated  young  lady  imagine  that 
the  trimmings,  which  constituted  three-fourths  of  this 
bill,  were  worth  anything.  The  word  "  lace,"  in  Madame 
Cie's  bill,  invariably  meant  machine-made  trash,  worth 
tenpence  a  yard,  but  charged  eighteen  shillings  a  yard 
for  one  pennyworth  of  work  in  putting  it  on.  Where 
real  lace  was  used,  Madame  Cie  always  let  her  cxistomers 
know  it.  Miss  Lucas's  bill  for  this  year  contained  the 
two  following  little  items  :  — 

£  ». 

Hich  gros  de  cecile  polonaise  and  jacket  to  match, 

trimmed  with  Chantilly  lace  and  Valenciennes  .    .     .68  5 

Superb  robe  de  chambre,  richly  trimmed  with  skunk  fur,  40  0 

The  customer  found  the  stuff;  viz.,  two  shawls.  Caro- 
lina found  the  nasty  little  pole-cats,  and  got  twenty-four 
shillings  for  them  ;  Madame  Cie  found  the  rest. 

But  Christopher  Staines  had  not  Miss  Lucas's  bill  to 


194  A   SIMPLETON. 

compare  his  wife's  with.  He  could  only  compare  the 
latter  with  their  income,  and  with  male  notions  of 
common  sense  and  reason. 

He  went  home,  and  into  his  studio,  and  sat  down  on 
his  hard  beech  chair ;  he  looked  round  on  his  books  and 
his  work,  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  remembered  how 
long  and  how  patiently  he  had  toiled  for  every  hundred 
pounds  he  had  made ;  and  he  laid  the  evidences  of  his 
wife's  profusion  and  deceit  by  the  side  of  those  signs  of 
painful  industry  and  self-denial,  and  his  soul  filled  with 
bitterness.     "  Deceit !  deceit ! " 

Mrs.  Staines  heard  he  was  in  the  house,  and  came  to 
know  about  the  trial.  She  came  hurriedly  in,  and  caught 
him  with  his  head  on  the  table,  in  an  attitude  of  prostra- 
tion, quite  new  to  him ;  he  raised  his  head  directly  he 
heard  her,  and  revealed  a  face,  pale,  stern,  and  wretched. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  she. 

"The  matter  is  what  it  has  always  been,  if  I  could 
only  have  seen  it.  You  have  deceived  me,  and  disgraced 
yourself.     Look  at  those  bills." 

"What  bills?     Oh!" 

"  You  have  had  an  allowance  for  housekeeping." 

"  It  wasn't  enough." 

"  It  was  plenty,  if  you  had  kept  faith  with  me,  and 
paid  ready  money.  It  was  enough  for  the  first  five 
weeks.  I  am  housekeeper  now,  and  I  shall  allow  myself 
two  pounds  a  week  less,  and  not  owe  a  shilling  either." 

"Well,  all  I  know  is,  I  couldn't  do  it:  no  woman 
could." 

"  Then,  you  should  have  come  to  me,  and  said  so  ;  and 
I  would  have  shown  you  how.  Was  I  in  Egypt,  or  at 
the  North  Pole,  that  you  could  not  find  me,  to  treat  me 
like  a  friend  ?  You  have  ruined  us :  these  debts  will 
sweep  away  the  last  shilling  of  our  little  capital ;  but  it 
isn't  that,  oh,  no  !  it  is  the  miserable  deceit." 


A   SIMPLETON.      '  195 

Rosa's  eye  caught  the  sum  total  of  Madame  Cie's  bill, 
and  she  turned  pale.    "  Oh,  what  a  cheat  that  woman  is  ! " 

But  she  turned  paler  wheu  Christopher  said,  "  That  is 
the  one  honest  bill ;  for  I  gave  you  leave.  It  is  these 
that  part  us  :  these  !  these  !  Look  at  them,  false  heart ! 
There,  go  and  pack  up  your  things.  We  can  live  here 
no  longer;  we  are  ruined.  I  must  send  you  back  to 
your  father." 

"I  thought  you  would,  sooner  or  later,"  said  Mrs. 
Staines,  panting,  trembling,  but  showing  a  little  fight. 
"  He  told  you  I  wasn't  fit  to  be  a  poor  man's  wife." 

"  An  honest  man's  wife,  you  mean :  that  is  what  you 
are  not  fit  for.  You  will  go  home  to  your  father,  and  I 
shall  go  into  some  humble  lodging  to  work  for  you. 
I'll  contrive  to  keep  you,  and  find  you  a  hundred  a  year 
to  sj)end  in  dress  —  the  only  thing  your  heart  can  really 
love.  But  I  won't  have  an  enemy  here  in  the  disguise 
of  a  friend ;  and  I  won't  have  a  wife  about  me  I  must 
treat  like  a  servant,  and  watch  like  a  traitor." 

The  words  were  harsh,  but  the  agony  with  which  they 
were  spoken  distinguished  them  from  vulgar  vituperation. 

They  overpowered  poor  Rosa ;  she  had  been  ailing  a 
little  some  time,  and  from  remorse  and  terror,  coupled 
with  other  causes,  nature  gave  way.  Her  lips  turned 
white,  she  gasped  inarticulately,  and,  with  a  little  piteous 
moan,  tottered,  and  swooned  dead  away. 

He  was  walking  wildly  about,  ready  to  tear  his  hair, 
when  she  tottered ;  he  saw  her  just  in  time  to  save  her, 
and  laid  her  gently  on  the  floor,  and  kneeled  over  her. 

Away  went  anger  and  every  other  feeling  but  love  and 
pity  for  the  poor,  weak  creature  that,  with  all  her  faults, 
was  so  lovable  and  so  loved. 

He  applied  no  remedies  at  first :  he  knew  they  were 
useless  and  unnecessary.  He  laid  her  head  quite  low, 
and  opened  door  and  window,  and  loosened  all  her  dress, 
sighing  deeply  all  the  time  at  her  condition. 


196  A   SIMPLETON. 

While  he  was  thus  employed,  suddenly  a  strange  cry 
broke  from  him :  a  cry  of  horror,  remorse,  joy,  tender- 
ness, all  combined :  a  cry  compared  with  which  language 
is  inarticulate.  His  swift  and  practical  eye  had  made  a 
discovery. 

He  kneeled  over  her,  with  his  eyes  dilating  and  his 
hands  clasped,  a  picture  of  love  and  tender  remorse. 

She  stirred. 

Then  he  made  haste,  and  applied  his  remedies,  and 
brought  her  slowly  back  to  life ;  he  lifted  her  up,  and 
carried  her  in  his  arms  quite  away  from  the  bills  and 
things,  that,  when  she  came  to,  she  might  see  nothing  to 
revive  her  distress.  He  carried  her  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  kneeled  down  and  rocked  her  in  his  arms,  and  pressed 
her  again  and  again  gently  to  his  heart,  and  cried  over 
her.  "  0  my  dove,  my  dove !  the  tender  creature  God 
gave  me  to  love  and  cherish,  and  have  I  used  it  harshly  ? 
If  I  had  only  known  !  if  I  had  only  known !  " 

While  he  was  thus  bemoaning  her,  and  blaming  him- 
self, and  crying  over  her  like  the  rain,  —  he,  whom  she 
had  never  seen  shed  a  tear  before  in  all  his  troubles,  — 
she  was  coming  to  entirely,  and  her  quick  ears  caught 
his  words,  and  she  opened  her  lovely  eyes  on  him. 

"I  forgive  you,  dear,"  she  said  feebly.     "But  I  hope 

YOU  WILL  BE  A  KINDER  FATHER  THAN  A  HUSBAND." 

These  quiet  words,  spoken  with  rare  gravity  and  soft- 
ness, went  through  the  great  heart  like  a  knife. 

He  gave  a  sort  of  shiver,  but  said  not  a  word. 

But  that  night  he  made  a  solemn  vow  to  God  that  no 
harsh  word  from  his  lips  should  ever  again  strike  a  being 
so  weak,  so  loving,  and  so  beyond  his  comprehension. 
Why  look  for  courage  and  candor  in  a  creature  so  timid 
and  shy,  she  could  not  even  tell  her  husband  that  until, 
with  her  subtle  sense,  she  saw  he  had  discovered  it  ? 


/"-": 


lifw. 


j-!-«p5si:_ 


LAID    HKK    CKXTLY    ON    THE    FLCX   R,    AND     KXEKLKI)    OVKK    HER. 


A  SBIPLETON.  197 


CHAPTER  XII. 

To  be  a  father ;  to  have  an  image  of  his  darling  Rosa, 
and  a  fruit  of  their  love  to  live  and  work  for :  this  gave 
the  sore  heart  a  heavenly  glow,  and  elasticity  to  bear. 
Should  this  dear  object  be  born  to  an  inheritance  of 
debt,  of  poverty  ?     Never. 

He  began  to  act  as  if  he  was  even  now  a  father.  He 
entreated  Rosa  not  to  trouble  or  vex  herself ;  he  would 
look  into  their  finances,  and  set  all  straight. 

He  paid  all  the  bills,  and  put  by  a  quarter's  rent  and 
taxes.  Then  there  remained  of  his  little  capital  just 
ten  pounds. 

He  went  to  his  printers,  and  had  a  thousand  order- 
checks  printed.     These  forms  ran  thus  :  — 

"Dr.  Staines,  of  13  Dear  Street,  Mayfair  (blank  for 
date),  orders  of  (blank  here  for  tradesman  and  goods 
ordered),  for  cash.  Received  same  time  (blank  for 
tradesman's  receipt).  Notice :  Dr.  Staines  disowns  all 
orders  not  printed  on  this  form,  and  paid  for  at  date  of 
order." 

He  exhibited  these  forms,  and  warned  all  the  trades- 
people, before  a  witness  whom  he  took  round  for  that 
purpose. 

He  paid  off  Pearman  on  the  spot.  Pearman  had  met 
Clara,  dressed  like  a  pauper,  her  soldier  having  emptied 
her  box  to  the  very  dregs,  and  he  now  offered  to  stay. 
But  it  was  too  late. 

Staines  told  the  cook  Mrs.  Staines  was  in  delicate 
health,  and  must  not  l)e  troubled  with  anything.  She 
must  come  to  him  for  all  orders. 


1C8  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she.  But  she  no  sooner  comprehended 
the  check  system  fully  than  she  gave  warning.  It 
put  a  stop  to  her  wholesale  pilfering.  Rosa's  cooks  liad 
made  fully  a  hundred  pounds  out  of  her  amongst  them 
since  she  began  to  keep  accounts. 

Under  the  male  housekeeper  every  article  was  weighed 
on  delivery,  and  this  soon  revealed  that  the  butcher  and 
the  fishmonger  had  habitually  delivered  short  weight 
from  the  first,  besides  putting  down  the  same  thing 
twice.  The  things  were  sent  back  that  moment,  with  a 
printed  form,  stating  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  fraud. 

The  washerwoman,  who  had  been  pilfering  wholesale 
so  long  as  Mrs.  Staines  and  her  sloppy-headed  maids 
counted  the  linen,  and  then  forgot  it,  was  brought  up 
with  a  run,  by  triplicate  forms,  and  by  Staines  counting 
the  things  before  two  witnesses,  and  compelling  the 
washerwoman  to  count  them  as  well,  and  verify  or  dis- 
pute on  the  spot.  The  laundress  gave  warning  —  a  plain 
confession  that  stealing  had  been  part  of  her  trade. 

He  kept  the  house  well  for  three  pounds  a  week, 
exclusive  of  coals,  candles,  and  wine.  His  wife  had  had 
five  pounds,  and  whatever  she  asked  for  dinner-parties, 
yet  found  it  not  half  enough  upon  her  method. 

He  kept  no  coachman.  If  he  visited  a  patient,  a  man 
in  the  yard  drove  him  at  a  shilling  per  hour. 

By  these  means,  and  by  working  like  a  galley  slave, 
he  dragged  his  expenditure  down  almost  to  a  level  with 
his  income. 

Rosa  was  quite  content  at  first,  and  thought  herself 
lucky  to  escape  reproaches  on  such  easy  terms. 

But  by  and  by  so  rigorous  a  system  began  to  gall  her. 
One  day  she  fancied  a  Bath  bun ;  sent  the  new  maid  to 
the  pastry-cook's.  Pastry-cook  asked  to  see  the  doctor's 
order.     Maid  could  not  show  it,  and  came  back  bunless. 

Rosa  came  into  the  study  to  complain  to  her  husband. 


A  SIMPLETOi'T.  199 

"  A  Bath  bun,"  said  Staines.  "  Why,  they  are  colored 
with  annotto,  to  save  an  egg,  and  annotto  is  adulterated 
with  chromates  that  are  poison.  Adulteration  upon 
adulteration,  i'll  make  you  a  real  Bath  bun."  Off  coat, 
and  into  the  kitchen,  and  made  her  three,  pure,  but 
rather  heavy.  He  brought  them  her  in  due  course. 
She  declined  them  languidly.  She  was  off  the  notion, 
as  they  say  in  Scotland. 

"  If  I  can't  have  a  thing  when  I  want  it,  I  don't  care 
for  it  at  all."  Such  was  the  principle  she  laid  down  for 
his  future  guidance. 

He  sighed,  and  went  back  to  his  work ;  she  cleared 
the  plate. 

One  day,  when  she  asked  for  the  carriage,  he  told  her 
the  time  was  now  come  for  her  to  leave  off  carriage 
exercise.     She  must  walk  with  him  every  day,  instead. 
-    "  But  I  don't  like  walking." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  But  it  is  necessary  to  you,  and 
by  and  by  your  life  may  depend  on  it." 

Quietly,  but  inexorably,  he  dragged  her  out  walking 
every  day. 

In  one  of  these  walks  she  stoj)ped  at  a  shop  window, 
and  fell  in  love  with  some  baby's  things.  "  Oh !  I  must 
have  that,"  said  she.  "  I  must.  I  shall  die  if  I  don't ; 
you'll  see  now." 

"  You  shall,"  said  he,  "  when  I  can  pay  for  it,"  and 
drew  her  away. 

The  tears  of  disappointment  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  his 
heart  yearned  over  her.     But  he  kept  his  head. 

He  changed  the  dinner  hour  to  six,  and  used  to  go  out 
directly  afterwards. 

She  began  to  complain  of  his  leaving  her  alone  like  that. 

"  Well,  but  wait  a  bit,"  said  he ;  "  suppose  I  am 
making  a  little  money  by  it,  to  buy  you  something  you 
have  set  your  heart  on,  poor  darling  !  " 


200  A  SIMPLETON. 

In  a  very  few  days  after  this,  he  brought  her  a  little 
box  with  a  slit  in  it.  He  shook  it,  and  money  rattled ; 
then  he  unlocked  it,  and  poured  out  a  little  pile  of 
silver.  "There,"  said  he,  "put  on  your  bonnet,  and 
come  and  buy  those  things." 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  on  the  way  she  asked  how 
it  came  to  be  all  in  silver. 

"  That  is  a  puzzler,"  said  he,  "  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  And  how  did  you  make  it,  dear  ?  by  writing  ?  " 

"No." 

"  By  fees  from  the  poor  people  ?  " 

"  What,  undersell  my  brethren !  Hang  it,  no !  My 
dear,  I  made  it  honestly,  and  some  day  I  will  tell  you 
how  I  made  it ;  at  present,  all  I  will  tell  you  is  this  : 
I  saw  my  darling  longing  for  something  she  had  a  right 
to  long  for ;  I  saw  the  tears  in  her  sweet  eyes,  and  — 
oh,  come  along,  do.  I  am  wretched  till  I  see  you  with 
the  things  in  your  hand." 

They  went  to  the  shop ;  and  Staines  sat  and  watched 
Eosa  buying  baby-clothes.  Oh,  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  this  modest  young  creature,  little  more  than  a  child 
herself,  anticipating  maternity,  but  blushing  every  now 
and  then,  and  looking  askant  at  her  lord  and  master. 
How  his  very  bowels  yearned  over  her ! 

And  when  they  got  home,  she  spread  the  things  on  a 
table,  and  they  sat  hand  in  hand,  and  looked  at  them, 
and  she  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  went  quietly 
to  sleep  there. 

And  yet,  as  time  rolled  on,  she  became  irritable  at 
times,  and  impatient,  and  wanted  all  manner  of  things 
she  could  not  have,  and  made  him  unhappy. 

Then  he  was  out  from  six  o'clock  till  one,  and  she 
took  it  into  her  head  to  be  jealous.  So  many  hours  to 
spend  away  from  her!  Now  that  she  wanted  all  his 
comfort. 


A  SmPLETOX.  201 

Presently,  Ellen,  tlie  new  maid,  got  gossiping  in  the 
yard,  and  a  groom  told  her  her  master  had  a  sweetheart 
OD  the  sly,  he  thought ;  for  he  drove  the  brougham  out 
every  evening  himself ;  "  and,"  said  the  man,  "  he  wears 
a  mustache  at  night." 

Ellen  ran  in,  brimful  of  this,  and  told  the  cook ;  the 
cook  told  the  washerwoman ;  the  washerwoman  told  a 
dozen  families,  till  about  two  hundred  people  knew  it. 

At  last  it  came  to  Mrs.  Staines  in  a  roundabout  way, 
at  the  very  moment  when  she  was  complaining  to  Lady 
Cicely  Treherne  of  her  hard  lot.  She  had  been  telling 
her  she  was  nothing  more  than  a  lay-figure  in  the  house. 

"  My  husband  is  housekeeper  now,  and  cook,  and  all, 
and  makes  me  delicious  dishes,  I  can  tell  you;  such 
curries !  I  couldn't  keep  the  house  with  five  pounds  a 
week,  so  now  he  does  it  with  three  :  and  I  never  get  the 
carriage,  because  walking  is  best  for  me ;  and  he  takes 
it  out  every  night  to  make  money.  I  don't  understand 
it" 

Lady  Cicely  suggested  that  perhaps  Dr.  Staines 
thought  it  best  for  her  to  be  relieved  of  all  worry,  and 
so  undertook  the  housekeeping. 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Eosa ;  "I  used  to  pay  them  all  a 
part  of  their  bills,  and  then  a  little  more,  and  so  I  kept 
getting  deeper ;  and  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  Christie,  so 
that  he  calls  deceit ;  and  oh,  he  spoke  to  me  so  cruelly 
once !  But  he  was  very  sorry  afterwards,  poor  dear ! 
Why  are  girls  brought  up  so  silly  ?  all  piano,  and  no 
sense;  and  why  are  men  sillier  still  to  go  and  marry 
such  silly  things  ?  A  wife  !  I  am  not  so-  much  as  a 
servant.  Oh,  I  am  finely  humiliated,  and,"  with  a  sudden 
hearty  naivete  all  her  own,  "it  serves  me  just  right." 

While  Lady  Cicely  was  puzzling  this  out,  in  came  a 
letter.  Rosa  opened  it,  read  it,  and  gave  a  cry  like 
a  wounded  deer. 


202  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  "  I  am  a  miserable  woman.  What 
will  become  of  me  ?  " 

The  letter  informed  her  bluntly  that  her  husband 
drove  his  brougham  out  every  night  to  pursue  a  criminal 
amour. 

While  Eosa  was  wringing  her  hands  in  real  anguish 
of  heart,  Lady  Cicely  read  the  letter  carefully. 

"  I  don't  believe  this,"  said  she  quietly. 

"  Not  true  !  Why,  who  would  be  so  wicked  as  to  stab 
a  poor,  inoffensive  wretch  like  me,  if  it  wasn't  true  ?  " 

"The  first  ugly  woman  would,  in  a  minute.  Don't 
you  see  the  witer  can't  tell  you  where  he  goes  ?  Dwives 
his  bwougham  out !     That  is  all  your  inf aumant  knows." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  bless  you !  What  have  I  been 
complaining  to  you  about  ?  All  is  light,  except  to  lose 
his  love.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  will  never  tell  him.  I 
will  never  affront  him  by  saying  I  suspected  him." 

"  Wosa,  if  you  do  that,  you  will  always  have  a  serpent 
gnawing  you.  No ;  you  must  put  the  letter  quietly  into 
his  hand,  and  say,  '  Is  there  any  truth  in  that  ? '  " 

"Oh,  I  could  not.  I  haven't  the  courage.  If  I  do 
that,  I  shall  know  by  his  face  if  there  is  any  truth  in  it." 

"Well,  and  you  must  know  the  twuth.  You  shall 
know  it.  I  want  to  know  it  too  ;  for  if  he  does  not  love 
you  twuly,  I  will  nevaa  twust  myself  to  anything  so 
deceitful  as  a  man." 

Eosa  at  last  consented  to  follow  this  advice. 

After  dinner  she  put  the  letter  into  Christopher's  hand, 
and  asked  him  quietly  was  there  any  truth  in  that :  then 
her  hands  trembled,  and  her  eyes  drank  him. 

Christopher  read  it,  and  frowned;  then  he  looked 
lip,  and  said,  "  No,  not  a  word.  What  scoundrels  there 
are  in  the  world !  To  go  and  tell  you  that,  noiv  !  Why, 
you  little  goose !  have  you  been  silly  enough  to  believe 
it?" 


A   SIMPLETON.  203 

"  No,  "  said  she  irresolutely.  "  But  do  you  drive  the 
brougham  out  every  night  ?  " 

"  Except  Sunday." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"My  dear  wife,  I  never  loved  you  as  I  love  you 
now ;  and  if  it  was  not  for  you,  I  should  not  drive  the 
brougham  out  of  nights.  That  is  all  I  shall  tell  you  at 
present ;  but  some  day  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

He  took  such  a  calm  high  hand  with  her  about  it,  that 
she  submitted  to  leave  it  there  ;  but  from  this  moment 
the  serpent  doubt  nibbled  her. 

It  had  one  curious  effect,  though.  She  left  off  com- 
plaining of  trifles. 

Now  it  happened  one  night  that  Lady  Cicely  Treherne 
and  a  friend  were  at  a  concert  in  Hanover  Square.  The 
otlier  lady  felt  rather  faint,  and  Lady  Cicely  offered  to 
take  her  home.  The  carriages  had  not  yet  arrived,  and 
Miss  Macnamara  said  to  walk  a  few  steps  would  do  her 
good :  a  smart  cabman  saw  them  from  a  distance  and 
drove  up,  and  touching  his  hat  said,  "  Cab,  ladies  ?  " 

It  seemed  a  very  superior  cab,  and  Miss  Macnamara 
said  "  Yes  "  directly. 

The  cabman  bustled  down  and  opened  the  door ;  Miss 
Macnamara  got  in  first,  then  Lady  Cicely ;  her  eye  fell 
on  the  cabman's  face,  which  was  lighted  full  by  a  street- 
lamp,  and  it  was  Christopher  Staines  ! 

He  started  and  winced ;  but  the  woman  of  the  world 
never  moved  a  muscle. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  said  Staines,  averting  his  head. 

She  told  him  where,  and  when  they  got  out,  said,  "  I'll 
send  it  you  by  the  servant." 

A  flunkey  soon  after  appeared  with  half-a-crown,  and 
the  amateur  coachman  drove  away.  He  said  to  him- 
self, "Come,  my  mustache  is  a  better  disguise  than  I 
thought." 


204  A   SIMPLETON. 

Next  day,  and  the  day  after,  he  asked  Eosa,  with 
affected  carelessness,  had  she  heard  anything  of  Lady 
Cicely. 

"  No,  dear ;  but  I  dare  say  she  will  call  this  afternoon : 
it  is  her  day." 

She  did  call  at  last,  and  after  a  few  words  with  Kosa, 
became  a  little  restless,  and  asked  if  she  might  consult 
Dr.  Staines. 

"  Certainly,  dear.     Come  to  his  studio." 

*'  No  ;  might  I  see  him  here  ?  " 

"  Certainly."  She  rang  the  bell,  and  told  the  servant 
to  ask  Dr.  Staines  if  he  would  be  kind  enough  to  step 
into  the  drawing-room. 

Dr.  Staines  came  in,  and  bowed  to  Lady  Cicely,  and 
ej'^ed  her  a  little  uncomfortably. 

She  began,  however,  in  a  way  that  put  him  quite  at 
his  ease.  "  You  remember  the  advice  you  gave  us  about 
ray  little  cousin  Tadcastah." 

"  Perfectly :  his  life  is  very  precarious ;  he  is  bilious, 
consumptive,  and,  if  not  watched,  will  be  epileptical ; 
and  he  has  a  fond,  weak  mother,  who  will  let  him  kill 
himself." 

"  Exactly :  and  you  wecommended  a  sea  voyage,  with 
a  medical  attendant  to  watch  his  diet,  and  contwol  his 
habits.  Well,  she  took  other  advice,  and  the  youth  is 
worse ;  so  now  she  is  fwightened,  and  a  month  ago  slie 
asked  me  to  pwopose  to  you  to  sail  about  with  Tadcastah ; 
and  she  offered  me  a  thousand  pounds  a  year.  I  put  on 
my  stiff  look,  and  said,  '  Countess,  with  every  desiah  to 
oblige  you,  I  must  decline  to  cawwy  that  offah  to  a  man 
of  genius,  learning,  and  weputation,  who  has  the  ball  at 
his  feet  in  London.'  " 

"  Lord  forgive  you.  Lady  Cicely." 

"  Lord  bless  her  for  standing  up  for  my  Christie." 

Lady  Cicely  continued :    "  Now,  this  good  lady,  you 


A   SEVrPLETON.  205 

must  know,  is  not  exactly  one  of  us :  the  late  earl 
mawwied  into  cotton,  or  wool,  or  something.  So  she 
said,  '  Name  your  price  for  him.'  I  shwugged  my 
shoulders,  smiled  affably,  and  as  affectedly  as  you  like, 
and  changed  the  subject.  But  since  then  things  have 
happened.  I  am  afwaid  it  is  my  duty  to  make  you  the 
judge  whether  you  choose  to  sail  about  with  that  little 
cub  —  Rosa,  I  can  beat  about  the  bush  no  longer.  Is  it 
a  fit  thing  that  a  man  of  genius,  at  whose  feet  we  ought 
all  to  be  sitting  with  reverence,  should  drive  a  cab  in  the 
public  streets  ?  Yes,  Eosa  Staines,  your  husband  drives 
his  brougham  out  at  night,  not  to  visit  any  other  lady, 
as  that  anonymous  wretch  told  you,  but  to  make  a  few 
misewable  shillings  for  you." 

"  Oh,  Christie !  " 

"  It  is  no  use.  Dr.  Staines ;  I  must  and  will  tell  her. 
My  dear,  he  drove  ?/ie  three  nights  ago.  He  had  a  cab- 
man's badge  on  his  poor  arm.  If  you  knew  what  I  suf- 
fered in  those  five  minutes  !  Indeed  it  seems  cruel  to 
speak  of  it  —  but  I  could  not  keep  it  from  Eosa,  and  the 
reason  I  muster  courage  to  say  it  before  you,  sir,  it  is 
because  I  know  she  has  other  friends  who  keep  you  out 
of  their  consultations  ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  the  world  that 
ought  to  blush,  and  not  you." 

Her  ladyship's  kindly  bosom  heaved,  and  she  wanted 
to  cry ;  so  she  took  her  handkerchief  out  of  her  pocket 
without  the  least  hurry,  and  pressed  it  delicately  to  her 
eyes,  and  did  cry  quietly,  but  without  any  disguise,  like 
a  brave  lady,  who  neither  cried  nor  did  anything  else 
she  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  at. 

As  for  Rosa,  she  sat  sobbing  round  Christopher's  neck, 
and  kissed  him  with  all  her  soul. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  said  Christopher.  "  You  are  both  very 
kind.  But,  begging  your  pardon,  it  is  much  ado  about 
nothing." 


206  A   SIMPLETON. 

Lady  Cicely  took  no  notice  of  that  observation.  "  So, 
Rosa  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  think  you  are  the  person  to 
decide  whether  he  had  not  better  sail  about  with  that 
little  cub,  than  — oh  ! " 

"  I  will  settle  that,"  said  Staines.  "  I  have  one  beloved 
creature  to  provide  for.  I  may  have  another.  I  must 
make  money.  Turning  a  brougham  into  a  cab,  whatever 
you  may  think,  is  an  honest  way  of  making  it,  and  I  am 
not  the  first  doctor  who  has  coined  his  brougham  at 
night.  But  if  there  is  a  good  deal  of  money  to  be  made 
by  sailing  with  Lord  Tadcaster,  of  course  I  should  prefer 
that  to  cab-driving,  for  I  have  never  made  above  twelve 
shillings  a  night." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  she  shall  give  you  fifteen  hundred  a 
year." 

«  Then  I  jump  at  it." 

"  What !  and  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  love :  leave  you  —  for  your  good  ;  and  only  for 
a  time.  Lady  Cicely,  it  is  a  noble  offer.  My  darling 
Rosa  will  have  every  comfort  —  ay,  every  luxury,  till  I 
come  home,  and  then  we  will  start  afresh  with  a  good 
balance,  and  with  more  experience  than  we  did  at  first." 

Lady  Cicely  gazed  on  him  with  wonder.  She  said, 
"  Oh !  Avhat  stout  hearts  men  have  !  No,  no  ;  don't  let 
him  go.  See ;  he  is  acting.  His  great  heart  is  torn 
with  agony.  I  will  have  no  hand  in  jiarting  man  and 
wife  —  no,  not  for  a  day."  And  she  hurried  away  in 
rare  agitation. 

Rosa  fell  on  her  knees,  and  asked  Christopher's  pardon 
for  having  been  jealous ;  and  that  day  she  was  a  flood  of 
divine  tenderness.  She  repaid  him  richly  for  driving 
the  cab.  But  she  was  unnaturally  cool  about  Lady 
Cicely ;  and  the  exquisite  reason  soon  came  out.  "  Oh 
yes  !  She  is  very  good  ;  very  kind  ;  but  it  is  not  for  me 
now !  No  !  you  shall  not  sail  about  with  her  cub  of  a 
cousin,  and  leave  me  at  such  a  time." 


A   SEVIPLETON.  207 

Christopher  groaned. 

"Christie,  you  shall  not  see  that  lady  again.  She 
came  here  to  part  us.  She  is  in  love  ivith  you.  I  was 
blind  not  to  see  it  before." 

Next  day,  as  Lady  Cicely  sat  alone  in  the  morning- 
room  thinking  over  this  very  scene,  a  footman  brought 
in  a  card  and  a  note.  "  Dr.  Staines  begs  particularly  to 
see  Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

The  lady's  pale  cheek  colored ;  she  stood  irresolute  a 
single  moment.     "  I  will  see  Dr.  Staines,"  said  she. 

Dr.  Staines  came  in,  looking  pale  and  worn ;  he  had 
not  slept  a  wink  since  she  saw  him  last. 

She  looked  at  him  full,  and  divined  this  at  a  glance. 
She  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  and  sat  down  herself,  with 
her  white  hand  pressing  her  forehead,  and  her  head 
turned  a  little  away  from  him. 


208  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

He  told  her  he  had  come  to  thank  her  for  her  great 
kindness,  and  to  accept  the  offer. 

She  sighed.  ''  I  hoped  it  was  to  decline  it.  Think  of 
the  misery  of  separation,  both  to  you  and  her." 

"  It  will  be  misery.  But  we  are  not  happy  as  it  is, 
and  she  cannot  bear  poverty.  Nor  is  it  fair  she  should, 
when  I  can  give  her  every  comfort  by  just  playing  the 
man  for  a  year  or  two."  He  then  told  Lady  Cicely  there 
were  more  reasons  than  he  chose  to  mention :  go  he  must, 
and  would;  and  he  implored  her  not  to  let  the  affair 
drop.  In  short,  he  was  sad  but  resolved,  and  she  found 
she  must  go  on  with  it,  or  break  faith  with  him.  She 
took  her  desk,  and  wrote  a  letter  concluding  the  bargain 
for  him.  She  stipulated  for  half  the  year's  fee  in 
advance.     She  read  Dr.  Staines  the  letter. 

"  You  are  a  friend ! "  said  he.  "  I  should  never  have 
ventured  on  that ;  it  will  be  a  godsend  to  my  poor  Eosa. 
You  will  be  kind  to  her  when  I  am  gone  ?  " 

"I  will." 

"  So  will  Uncle  Philip,  I  think.  I  will  see  him  before 
I  go,  and  shake  hands.  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to 
me;  but  he  was  too  hard  upon  Aery  and  I  could  not 
stand  that." 

Then  he  thanked  and  blessed  her  again,  with  the  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  left  her  more  disturbed  and  tearful  than 
she  had  ever  been  since  she  grew  to  woman.  "  0  cruel 
poverty ! "  she  thought,  "  that  such  a  man  should  be 
torn  from  his  home,  and  thank  me  for  doing  it  —  all 
for  a  little  money  —  and  here  are  we  poor  commonplace 
creatures  rolling  in  it." 


A    SIMPLETON.  209 

Staines  hurried  home,  and  told  his  wife.  She  chmg 
to  him  convulsively,  and  wept  bitterly ;  but  she  made  no 
direct  attempt  to  shake  his  resolution ;  she  saw,  by  his 
iron  look,  that  she  could  only  afflict,  not  turn  him. 

Next  day  came  Lady  Cicely  to  see  her.  Lady  Cicely 
was  very  uneasy  in  her  mind,  and  wanted  to  know 
whether  Rosa  was  reconciled  to  the  separation. 

Rosa  received  her  with  a  forced  politeness  and  an  icy 
coldness  that  petrified  her.  She  could  not  stay  long  in 
face  of  such  a  reception.  At  parting,  she  said,  sadly, 
"You  look  on  me  as  an  enemy." 

"  What  else  can  you  expect,  when  you  part  my  husband 
and  me  ?  "  said  Rosa,  with  quiet  sternness. 

"  I  meant  well,"  said  Lady  Cicely  sorrowfully ;  "  but  I 
wish  I  had  never  interfered." 

"  So  do  I,"  and  she  began  to  cry. 

Lady  Cicely  made  no  answer.  She  went  quietly  away, 
hanging  her  head  sadly. 

Rosa  was  unjust,  but  she  was  not  rude  nor  vulgar; 
and  Lady  Cicely's  temper  was  so  well  governed  that  it 
never  blinded  her  heart.  She  withdrew,  but  without 
the  least  idea  of  quarrelling  with  her  afflicted  friend,  or 
abandoning  her.     She  went  quietly  home,  and  wrote  to 

Lady  ,  to  say  that  she  should  be  glad  to  receive 

Dr.  Staines's  advance  as  soon  as  convenient,  since  Mrs. 
Staines  would  have  to  make  fresh  arrangements,  and 
the  money  might  be  useful. 

The  money  was  forthcoming  directly.  Lady  Cicely 
brought  it  to  Dear  Street,  and  handed  it  to  Dr.  Staines. 
His  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Rosa,"  said  she  softly,  and  cut  her 
visit  very  short. 

Staines  took  the  money  to  Rosa,  and  said,  "  See  what 
our  best  friend  has  brought  us.  You  shall  have  four 
hundred,  and  I  hope,  after  the  bitter  lessons  you  have 
14 


210  A   SJMPLRTON. 

had,  you  will  be  able  to  do  with  that  for  some  months. 
The  two  hundred  I  shall  keep  as  a  reserve  fund  for  you 
to  draw  on." 

''  Ko,  no ! "  said  Kosa.  "  I  shall  go  and  live  with  my 
father,  and  never  spend  a  penny.  0  Christie,  if  you 
knew  how  I  hate  myself  for  the  folly  that  is  parting  us ! 
Oh,  why  don't  they  teach  girls  sense  and  money,  instead 
of  music  and  the  globes  ?  " 

But  Christopher  opened  a  banking  account  for  her, 
and  gave  her  a  check-book,  and  entreated  her  to  pay 
everything  by  check,  and  run  no  bills  whatever;  and  she 
promised.  He  also  advertised  the  Bijou,  and  put  a  bill 
in  the  window :  "  The  lease  of  this  house,  and  the  furni- 
ture, to  be  sold." 

Eosa  cried  bitterly  at  sight  of  it,  thinking  how  high  in 
hope  they  were,  when  they  had  their  first  dinner  there, 
and  also  when  she  went  to  her  first  sale  to  buy  the  fur- 
niture cheap. 

And  now  everything  moved  with  terrible  rapidity. 
The  Amphitrite  was  to  sail  from  Plymouth  in  five  days ; 
and,  meantime,  there  was  so  much  to  be  done,  that  the 
days  seemed  to  gallop  away. 

Dr.  Staines  forgot  nothing.  He  made  his  will  in 
duplicate,  leaving  all  to  his  wife ;  he  left  one  copy  at 
Doctors'  Commons  and  another  with  his  lawyer ;  inven- 
toried all  his  furniture  and  effects  in  duplicate,  too; 
wrote  to  Uncle  Philij),  and  then  called  on  him  to  seek  a 
reconciliation.  Unfortunately,  Dr.  Philip  was  in  Scot- 
land. At  last  this  sad  pair  went  down  to  Plymouth 
together,  there  to  meet  Lord  Tadcaster  and  go  on  board 
H.M.S.  Amphitrite,  lying  out  at  anchor,  under  orders  for 
the  Australian  Station. 

They  met  at  the  inn,  as  appointed ;  and  sent  word  of 
their  arrival  on  board  the  frigate,  asking  to  remain  on 
shore  till  the  last  minute. 


A   SEVrPLETON.  211 

Dr.  Staines  presented  his  patient  to  Rosa;  and  after 
a  little  while  drew  him  apart  and  questioned  him  pro- 
fessionally. He  then  asked  for  a  private  room.  Here 
he  and  Rosa  really  took  leave ;  for  what  could  the  poor 
things  say  to  each  other  on  a  crowded  quay  ?  He  begged 
her  forgiveness,  on  his  knees,  for  having  once  spoken 
harshly  to  her,  and  she  told  him,  with  passionate  sobs, 
he  had  never  spoken  harshly  to  her;  her  folly  it  was  had 
parted  them. 

Poor  wretches !  they  clung  together  with  a  thousand 
vows  of  love  and  constancy.  They  were  to  pray  for  each 
other  at  the  same  hours  :  to  think  of  some  kind  word  or 
loving  act,  at  other  stated  hours ;  and  so  they  tried  to 
fight  with  their  suffering  minds  against  the  cruel  separa- 
tion; and  if  either  should  die,  the  other  was  to  live 
wedded  to  memory,  and  never  listen  to  love  from  other 
lips ;  but  no  !  God  was  pitiful ;  He  would  let  them  meet 
again  ere  long,  to  part  no  more.  They  rocked  in  each 
other's  arms ;  they  cried  over  each  other  —  it  was  pitiful. 

At  last  the  cruel  summons  came ;  they  shuddered,  as 
if  it  was  their  death-blow.  Christopher,  with  a  face  of 
agony,  was  yet  himself,  and  would  have  parted  then : 
and  so  best.  But  Rosa  could  not.  She  would  see  the 
last  of  him,  and  became  almost  wild  and  violent  when 
he  opposed  it. 

Then  he  let  her  come  with  him  to  Milbay  Steps ;  but 
into  the  boat  he  would  not  let  her  step. 

The  ship's  boat  lay  at  the  steps,  manned  by  six  sailors, 
all  seated,  with  their  oars  tossed  in  two  vertical  rows.  A 
smart  middy  in  charge  conducted  them,  and  Dr.  Staines 
and  Lord  Tadcaster  got  in,  leaving  Rosa,  in  charge  of 
her  maid,  on  the  quay. 

«  Shove  off "  —  «  Down  "  —  "  Give  way." 

Each  order  was  executed  so  swiftly  and  surely  that,  in 
as  many  seconds,  the  boat  was  clear,  the  oars  struck  the 


212  A  &IMPLET017. 

water  with  a  loud  splash,  and  the  husband  was  shot 
away  like  an  arrow,  and  the  wife's  despairing  cry  rang 
on  the  stony  quay,  as  many  a  poor  woman's  cry  had  rung 
before. 

In  half  a  minute  the  boat  shot  under  the  stern  of  the 
frigate. 

They  were  received  on  the  quarter-deck  by  Captain 
Hamilton :  he  introduced  them  to  the  officers  —  a  torture 
to  poor  Staines,  to  have  his  mind  taken  for  a  single 
instant  from  his  wife  —  the  first  lieutenant  came  aft, 
and  reported,  "Ready  for  making  sail,  sir." 

Staines  seized  the  excuse,  rushed  to  the  other  side  of 
the  vessel,  leaned  over  the  taffrail,  as  if  he  would  fly 
ashore,  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to  his  beloved  Rosa ; 
and  she  stretched  out  her  hands  to  him.  They  were  so 
near,  he  could  read  the  expression  of  her  face.  It  was 
wild  and  troubled,  as  one  who  did  not  yet  realize  the 
terrible  situation,  but  would  not  be  long  first. 

"  Hands  make  sail  —  away,  aloft  —  up  anchor  "  — 
rang  in  Christopher's  ear,  as  if  in  a  dream.  All  his 
soul  and  senses  were  bent  on  that  desolate  young 
creature.  How  young  and  amazed  her  lovely  face !  Yet 
this  bewildered  child  was  about  to  become  a  mother. 
Even  a  stranger's  heart  might  have  yearned  with  pity 
for  her :  how  much  more  her  miserable  husband's  ! 

The  capstan  was  manned,  and  worked  to  a  merry  tune 
that  struck  chill  to  the  bereaved ;  yards  were  braced  for 
casting,  anchor  hove,  catted,  and  fished,  sail  was  spread 
with  amazing  swiftness,  the  ship's  head  dipped,  and 
slowly  and  gracefully  paid  off  towards  the  breakwater, 
and  she  stood  out  to  sea  under  swiftly-swelling  canvas 
and  a  light  north-westerly  breeze. 

Staines  only  felt  the  motion:  his  body  was  in  the 
ship,  his  soul  with  his  Rosa.  He  gazed,  he  strained  his 
eyes  to  see  her  eyes,  as  the  ship  glided  from  England 


A  SIMPLETON.  213 

and  her.  Wliile  he  was  thus  gazing  and  trembling  all 
over,  up  came  to  him  a  smart  second  lieutenant,  with  a 
brilliant  voice  that  struck  him  like  a  sword.  "  Captain's 
orders  to  show  you  berths;  please  choose  for  Lord 
Tadcaster  and  yourself." 

The  man's  wild  answer  made  the  young  officer  stare. 
"  Oh,  sir !  not  now  —  try  and  do  my  duty  when  I  have 
quite  lost  her  —  my  poor  wife  —  a  child  —  a  mother  — 
there  —  sir  —  on  the  steps  —  there  !  —  there  ! " 

Now  this  officer  always  went  to  sea  singing  "  Oh  be 
joyful."  But  a  strong  man's  agony,  who  can  make  light 
of  it  ?  It  was  a  revelation  to  him ;  but  he  took  it 
quickly.  The  first  thing  he  did,  being  a  man  of  action, 
was  to  dash  into  his  cabin,  and  come  back  with  a  short, 
powerful  double  glass.  "  There  ! "  said  he  roughly,  but 
kindly,  and  shoved  it  into  Staines's  hand.  He  took  it, 
stared  at  it  stupidly,  then  used  it,  without  a  word  of 
thanks,  so  wrapped  was  he  in  his  anguish. 

This  glass  prolonged  the  misery  of  that  bitter  hour. 
When  Rosa  could  no  longer  tell  her  husband  from  another, 
she  felt  he  was  really  gone,  and  she  threw  her  hands  aloft, 
and  clasped  them  above  her  head,  with  the  wild  abandon 
of  a  woman  who  could  never  again  be  a  child ;  and  Staines 
saw  it,  and  a  sharp  sigh  burst  from  him,  and  he  saw  her 
maid  and  others  gather  round  her.  He  saw  the  poor 
young  thing  led  away,  with  her  head  all  down,  as  he  had 
never  seen  her  before,  and  supported  to  the  inn;  and 
then  he  saw  her  no  more. 

His  heart  seemed  to  go  out  of  his  bosom  in  search  of 
her,  and  leave  nothing  but  a  stone  behind :  he  hung  over 
the  taffrail  like  a  dead  thing.  A  steady  foot-fall  slapped 
his  ear.  He  raised  his  white  face  and  filmy  eyes,  and 
saw  Lieutenant  Fitzroy  marching  to  and  fro  like  a  senti- 
nel, keeping  everybody  away  from  the  mourner,  with  the 
steady,  resolute,  business-like  face  of  a  man  in  whom 


214  A   SIMPLETON. 

sentiment  is  confined  to  action;  its  phrases  and  its 
flourishes  being  literally  terrob  incognita  to  the  honest 
fellow. 

Staines  staggered  towards  him,  holding  out  both  hands, 
and  gasped  out,  "  God  bless  you.  Hide  me  somewhere  — 
must  not  be  seen  so  —  got  duty  to  do  —  Patient  —  can't 
do  it  yet  —  one  hour  to  draw  my  breath  —  oh,  my  God, 
my  God  !  —  one  hour,  sir.  Then  do  my  duty,  if  I  die  — 
as  you  would." 

Fitzroy  tore  him  down  into  his  own  cabin,  shut  him  in 
and  ran  to  the  first  lieutenant,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye. 
"  Can  I  have  a  sentry,  sir  ?  " 

"Sentry!    What  for?" 

"  The  doctor  —  awfully  cut  up  at  leaving  his  wife :  got 
him  in  my  cabin.     Wants  to  have  his  cry  to  himself." 

"  Fancy  a  fellow  crying  at  going  to  sea ! " 

"  It  is  not  that,  sir ;  it  is  leaving  his  wife." 

"Well,  is  he  the  only  man  on  board  that  has  got  a 
wife  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  sir.  It  is  odd,  now  I  think  of  it.  Perhaps 
he  has  only  got  that  owe." 

"  Curious  creatures,  landsmen,"  said  the  first  lieutenant. 
"  However,  you  can  stick  a  marine  there." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  I  say,  show  the  youngster  the  berths,  and  let 
him  choose,  as  the  doctor's  aground." 

"Yes,  sir." 

So  Fitzoy  planted  his  marine,  and  then  went  after  Lord 
Tadcaster:  he  had  drawn  up  alongside  his  cousin. 
Captain  Hamilton.  The  captain,  being  an  admirer  of 
Lady  Cicely,  was  mighty  civil  to  his  little  lordship,  and 
talked  to  him  more  than  was  his  wont  on  the  quarter- 
deck; for  though  he  had  a  good  flow  of  conversation, 
and  dispensed  with  ceremony  in  his  cabin,  he  was  apt 
to  be  rather  short   on   deck.     However,  he  told  little 


A  SIMPLETON.  21;") 

Tadeaster  he  was  fortunate  ;  they  had  a  good  start,  and, 
if  the  wind  hekl,  might  hope  to  be  clear  of  the  Channel 
in  twenty-four  hours.  "  You  will  see  Eddystone  light- 
house about  four  bells,"  said  he. 

"  Shall  we  go  out  of  sight  of  land  altogether  ? " 
inquired  his  lordshijD. 

"  Of  course  we  shall,  and  the  sooner  the  better."  He 
then  explained  to  the  novice  that  the  only  danger  to  a 
good  ship  was  from  the  land. 

While  Tadeaster  was  digesting  this  paradox,  Captain 
Hamilton  proceeded  to  descant  on  the  beauties  of  blue 
water  and  its  fine  medicinal  qualities,  which,  he  said, 
were  particularly  suited  to  young  gentlemen  with  bilious 
stomachs,  but  presently,  catching  sight  of  Lieutenant 
Fitzroy  standing  apart,  but  with  the  manner  of  a  lieu- 
tenant not  there  by  accident,  he  stopped,  and  said,  civilly 
but  smartly,  "  Well,  sir  ?  " 

Fitzroy  came  forward  directly,  saluted,  and  said  he  had 
orders  from  the  first  lieutenant  to  show  Lord  Tadeaster 
the  berths.  His  lordship  must  be  good  enough  to  choose, 
because  the  doctor  —  couldn't. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Brought  to,  sir  —  for  the  present — by  —  well,  by 
grief." 

"  Brought  to  by  grief !  Who  the  deuce  is  grief  ?  No 
riddles  on  the  quarter-deck,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  Oh  no,  sir.  I  assure  you  he  is  awfully  cut  up ;  and 
he  is  having  his  cry  out  in  my  cabin." 

"  Having  his  cry  out !  why,  what  for  ?  " 

"  Leaving  his  wife,  sir." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  wonder,"  cried  little  Tadeaster  warmly. 
"  She  is,  oh,  so  beautiful ! "  and  a  sudden  blush  o'erspread 
his  pasty  cheeks.  "  Why  on  earth  didn't  we  bring  her 
along  with  us  here  ? "  said  he,  suddenly  opening  his 
eyes  with  astonishment  at  the  childish  omission. 


216  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  "Why,  indeed  ?  "  said  the  captain  comically,  and  dived 
below,  attended  by  the  well-disciplined  laughter  of  Lieu- 
tenant Fitzroy,  who  was  too  good  an  officer  not  to  be 
amused  at  his  captain's  jokes.  Having  acquitted  him- 
self of  that  duty  —  and  it  is  a  very  difficult  one  some- 
times—  he  took  Lord  Tadcaster  to  the  main-deck,  and 
showed  him  two  comfortable  sleeping-berths  that  had 
been  screened  off  for  him  and  Dr.  Staines ;  one  of  these 
was  fitted  with  a  standing  bed-place,  the  other  had  a  cot 
swung  in  it.  Fitzroy  offered  him  the  choice,  but  hinted 
that  he  himself  preferred  a  cot. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  says  my  lord  mighty  dryly. 

"  All  right,"  said  Fitzroy  cheerfully.  "  Take  the  other, 
then,  my  lord." 

His  little  lordship  cocked  his  eye  like  a  jackdaw,  and 
looked  almost  as  cunning.  "  You  see,"  said  he,  "  I  have 
been  reading  up  for  this  voyage." 

"  Oh,  indeed !     Logarithms  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"What  then?" 

"  Why,  '  Peter  Simple '  —  to  be  sure." 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  Fitzroy,  with  a  chuckle  that  showed 
plainly  he  had  some  delicious  reminiscences  of  youthful 
study  in  the  same  quarter. 

The  little  lord  chuckled  too,  and  put  one  finger  on 
Fitzroy's  shoulder,  and  pointed  at  the  cot  with  another. 
"  Tumble  out  the  other  side,  you  know  —  slippery  hitches 
—  cords  cut  —  down  you  come  flop  in  the  middle  of  the 
night." 

Fitzroy's  eye  flashed  merriment:  but  only  for  a 
moment.  His  countenance  fell  the  next.  "  Lord  bless 
you,"  said  he  sorrowfully,  "  all  that  game  is  over  now. 
Her  Majesty's  ship  !  —  it  is  a  church  afloat.  The  service 
is  going  to  the  devil,  as  the  old  fogies  say." 

"  Ain't  j^ou  sorry  ?  "  says  the  little  lord,  cocking  his 
eye  again  like  the  bird  hereinbefore  mentioned. 


A   SIMPLETON.  217 

"Of  course  I  am." 

"Then  I'll  take  the  standing  bed." 

"  All  right.  I  say,  you  don't  mind  the  doctor  coming 
down  with  a  run,  eh  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  ill :  I  am.  He  is  paid  to  take  care  of  me : 
I  am  not  paid  to  take  care  of  him,"  said  the  young  lord 
sententiously. 

"I  understand,"  replied  Fitzroy,  dryly.  "Well,  every 
one  for  himself,  and  Providence  for  us  all  —  as  the  ele- 
phant said  when  he  danced  among  the  chickens." 

Here  my  lord  was  summoned  to  dine  with  the  captain. 
Staines  was  not  there ;  but  he  had  not  forgotten  his  duty ; 
in  the  midst  of  his  grief  he  had  written  a  note  to  the 
captain,  hoping  that  a  bereaved  husband  might  not  seem 
to  desert  his  post  if  he  hid  for  a  few  hours  the  sorrow 
he  felt  himself  unable  to  control.  Meantime  he  would 
be  grateful  if  Captain  Hamilton  would  give  orders  that 
Lord  Tadcaster  should  eat  no  pastry,  and  drink  only  six 
ounces  of  claret,  otherwise  he  should  feel  that  he  Avas 
indeed  betraying  his  trust. 

The  captain  was  pleased  and  touched  with  this  letter. 
It  recalled  to  him  how  his  mother  sobbed  when  she 
launched  her  little  middy,  swelling  with  his  first  cocked 
hat  and  dirk. 

There  was  champagne  at  dinner,  and  little  Tadcaster 
began  to  pour  out  a  tumbler.  "  Hold  on ! "  said  Captain 
Hamilton  ;  "  you  are  not  to  drink  that ;  "  and  he  quietly 
removed  the  tumbler.     "  Bring  him  six  ounces  of  claret." 

A^Tiile  they  were  weighing  the  claret  with  scientific 
precision,  Tadcaster  remonstrated  ;  and,  being  told  it  was 
the  doctor's  order,  he  squeaked  out,  "  Confound  him  ! 
why  did  not  he  stay  with  his  wife  ?  She  is  beautiful." 
Nor  did  he  give  it  up  without  a  struggle.  "Here's  hos- 
pitality ! "  said  he.     "  Six  ounces  !  " 

Receiving  no  reply,  he  inquired  of  the  third  lieuten- 


218  A  SIMPLETON. 

ant,  which  was  generally  considered  the  greatest  authority 
in  a  ship  —  the  captain,  or  the  doctor. 

The  third  lieutenant  answered  not,  but  turned  his  head 
away,  and,  by  violent  exertion,  succeeded  in  not  splitting. 

"  I'll  answer  that,"  said  Hamilton  politely.  "  The 
captain  is  the  highest  in  his  department,  and  the  doctor 
in  his  :  now  Doctor  Staines  is  strictly  within  his  depart- 
ment, and  will  be  supported  by  me  and  my  officers.  You 
are  bilious,  and  epileptical,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and 
you  are  to  be  cured  by  diet  and  blue  water." 

Tadcaster  was  inclined  to  snivel :  however,  he  subdued 
that  weakness  with  a  visible  effort,  and,  in  due  course, 
returned  to  the  charge.  "  How  would  you  look,"  qua- 
vered he,  "  if  there  was  to  be  a  mutiny  in  this  ship  of 
yours,  and  I  was  to  head  it  ? ' 

"  Well,  I  should  look  shayp  —  hang  all  the  ringleaders 
at  the  yardarm,  clap  the  rest  under  hatches,  and  steer 
for  the  nearest  prison." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Tadcaster,  and  digested  this  scheme  a 
bit.  At  last  he  perked  up  again,  and  made  his  final  hit. 
"  Well,  I  shouldn't  care,  for  one,  if  you  didn't  flog  us." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Captain  Hamilton,  "  I'd  flog  yon 
—  and  stop  your  six  ounces." 

"  Then  curse  the  sea ;  that  is  all  I  say." 

"  Why,  you  have  not  seen  it ;  you  have  only  seen  the 
British  Channel."  It  was  Mr.  Fitzroy  who  contributed 
this  last  observation. 

After  dinner  all  but  the  captain  went  on  deck,  and  saw 
the  Eddystone  lighthouse  ahead  and  to  leeward.  They 
passed  it.  Fitzroy  told  his  lordship  its  story,  and  that 
of  its  unfortunate  predecessors.  Soon  after  this  Lord 
Tadcaster  turned  in. 

Presently  the  captain  observed  a  change  in  the  ther- 
mometer, which  brought  him  on  deck.  He  scanned  the 
water  and  the  sky,  and  as  these  experienced  commanders 


A   SIMPLETON.  219 

have  a  subtle  insight  into  the  weather,  especially  in 
familiar  latitudes,  he  remarked  to  the  first  lieutenant 
that  it  looked  rather  unsettled  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  pru- 
dence, ordered  a  reef  in  the  topsails,  and  the  royal  yards 
to  be  sent  down  :  ship  to  be  steered  W.  by  S.  This  done, 
he  turned  in,  but  told  them  to  call  him  if  there  was  any 
change  in  the  weather. 

During  the  night  the  wind  gradually  headed ;  and  at 
four  bells  in  the  middle  watch  a  heavy  squall  came  up 
from  the  south-west. 

This  brought  the  captain  on  deck  again :  he  found  the 
officer  of  the  watch  at  his  post,  and  at  work.  Sail  was 
shortened,  and  the  ship  made  snug  for  heavy  weather. 

At  four  A.M.  it  was  blowing  hard,  and,  being  too  near 
the  French  coast,  they  wore  the  ship. 

Now,  this  operation  was  bad  for  little  Tadcaster. 
While  the  vessel  was  on  the  starboard  tack,  the  side  kept 
him  snug ;  but,  when  they  wore  her,  of  course  he  had 
no  leeboard  to  keep  him  in.  The  ship  gave  a  lee-lurch, 
and  shot  him  clean  out  of  his  bunk  into  the  middle  of 
the  cabin. 

He  shrieked  and  shrieked,  with  terror  and  pain,  till 
the  captain  and  Staines,  who  were  his  nearest  neighbors, 
came  to  him,  and  they  gave  him  a  little  brandy,  and  got 
him  to  bed  again.  Here  he  suffered  nothing  but  violent 
sea-sickness  for  some  hours. 

As  for  Staines,  he  had  boen  swinging  heavily  in  his 
cot ;  but  such  was  his  mental  distress  that  he  would  have 
welcomed  sea-sickness,  or  any  reasonable  bodily  suffer- 
ing. He  was  in  that  state  when  the  sting  of  a  wasp  is 
a  touch  of  comfort. 

Worn  out  with  sickness,  Tadcaster  would  not  move. 
Invited  to  breakfast,  he  swore  faintly,  and  insisted  on 
dying  in  peace.  At  last  exhaustion  gave  him  a  sort  of 
sleep,  in  spite  of  the  motion,  which  was  violent,  for  it 


220  A   SIMPLETOK. 

was  now  blowing  great  guns,  a  heavy  sea  on,  and  the 
great  waves  dirty  in  color  and  crested  with  raging  foam. 

They  had  to  wear  ship  again,  always  a  ticklish  manoeu- 
vre in  weather  like  this. 

A  tremendous  sea  struck  her  quarter,  stove  in  the  very 
port  abreast  of  which  the  little  lord  was  lying,  and 
washed  him  clean  out  of  bed  into  the  lee  scuppers,  and 
set  all  swimming  around  him. 

Didn't  he  yell,  and  wash  about  the  cabin,  and  grab  at 
all  the  chairs  and  tables  and  things  that  drifted  about, 
nimble  as  eels,  avoiding  his  grasp ! 

In  rushed  the  captain,  and  in  staggered  Staines.  They 
stopped  his  "voyage  autourde  sachambre,"  and  dragged 
him  into  the  after  saloon. 

He  clung  to  them  by  turns,  and  begged,  with  many 
tears,  to  be  put  on  the  nearest  land ;  a  rock  woiald  do. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  the  captain ;  "  now  is  the  very 
time  to  give  rocks  a  wide  berth." 

"  A  dead  whale,  then  —  a  lighthouse  —  anything  but  a 
beast  of  a  ship." 

They  pacified  him  with  a  little  brandy,  and  for  the 
next  twenty-four  hours  he  scarcely  opened  his  mouth, 
except  for  a  purpose  it  is  needless  to  dwell  on.  "We  can 
trust  to  our  terrestrial  readers'  personal  reminiscences  of 
lee-lurches,  weather-rolls,  and  their  faithful  concomitant. 

At  last  they  wriggled  out  of  the  Channel,  and  soon 
after  that  the  wind  abated,  and  next  day  veered  round  to 
the  northward,  and  the  ship  sailed  almost  on  an  even 
keel.  The  motion  became  as  heavenly  as  it  had  been 
diabolical,  and  the  passengers  came  on  deck. 

Staines  had  suffered  one  whole  day  from  sea-sickness, 
but  never  complained.  I  believe  it  did  his  mind  more 
good  than  harm. 

As  for  Tadcaster,  he  continued  to  suffer,  at  intervals, 
for  two  days  more,  but  on  the  fifth  day  out  he  appeared 


A  SUMPLETON.  221 

■with  a  little  pink  tinge  on  his  cheek  and  a  wolfish  appe- 
tite. Dr.  Staines  controlled  his  diet  severely,  as  to 
quality,  and,  when  they  had  been  at  sea  just  eleven 
days,  the  physician's  heavy  heart  was  not  a  little  light- 
ened by  the  mai-vellous  change  in  him.  The  unthinking, 
who  believe  in  the  drug  system,  should  have  seen  what 
a  physician  can  do  with  air  and  food,  when  circumstances 
enable  him  to  enforce  the  diet  he  enjoins.  Money  will 
sometimes  buy  even  health,  if  you  avoid  drugs  entireli/, 
and  go  another  road. 

Little  Tadcaster  went  on  board,  pasty,  dim-eyed,  and 
very  subject  to  fits,  because  his  stomach  was  constantly 
overloaded  with  indigestible  trash,  and  the  blood  in  his 
brain-vessels  was  always  either  galloping  or  creeping, 
under  the  first  or  second  effect  of  stimulants  adminis- 
tered, at  first,  by  thoughtless  physicians.  Behold  him 
now — bronzed,  pinky,  bright-eyed,  elastic;  and  only 
one  fit  in  twelve  days. 

The  quarter-deck  was  hailed  from  the  "  look-out "  with 
a  cry  that  is  sometimes  terrible,  but  in  this  latitude  and 
weather  welcome  and  exciting.     "  Land,  ho  !  " 

"  Where  away  ?  "  cried  the  officer  of  the  watch. 

"  A  point  on  the  lee-bow,  sir." 

It  was  the  island  of  Madeira  :  they  dropped  anchor  in 
Funchal  Koads,  furled  sails,  squared  yards,  and  fired  a 
salute  of  twenty-one  guns  for  the  Portuguese  flag. 

They  went  ashore,  and  found  a  good  hotel,  and  were 
no  longer  dosed,  as  in  former  days,  with  oil,  onions,  gar- 
lic, eggs.    But  the  wine  queer,  and  no  madeira  to  be  got. 

Staines  wrote  home  to  his  wife :  he  told  her  how 
deeply  he  had  felt  the  bereavement ;  but  did  not  dwell 
on  that;  his  object  being  to  cheer  her.  He  told  her  it 
promised  to  be  a  rapid  and  wonderful  cure,  and  one  that 
might  very  well  give  him  a  fresh  start  in  London.  They 
need  not  be  parted  a  whole  year,  he  thought.     He  sent 


222  A  SIMPLETON". 

her  a  very  long  letter,  and  also  such  extracts  from  his 
sea  journal  as  he  thought  might  please  her.  After  din- 
ner they  inspected  the  town,  and  vv^hat  struck  them  most 
was  to  find  the  streets  paved  with  flag-stones,  and  most 
of  the  carts  drawn  by  bullocks  on  sledges.  A  man 
every  now  and  then  would  run.  forward  and  drop  a  greasy 
cloth  in  front  of  the  sledge,  to  lubricate  the  way. 

Next  day,  after  breakfast,  they  ordered  horses ;  these 
on  inspection,  proved  to  be  of  excellent  breed,  either 
from  Australia  or  America  —  very  rough  shod,  for  the 
stony  roads.  Started  for  the  Grand  Canal  —  peeped 
down  that  mighty  chasm,  which  has  the  appearance  of 
an  immense  mass  having  been  blown  out  of  the  centre 
of  the  mountain. 

They  lunched  under  the  great  dragon  tree  near  its 
brink,  then  rode  back  admiring  the  bold  mountain 
scenery.  Next  morning  at  dawn,  rode  on  horses  up 
the  hill  to  the  convent.  Admired  the  beautiful  gardens 
on  the  way.  Remained  a  short  time ;  then  came  down 
in  hand-sleighs  —  little  baskets  slung  on  sledges,  guided 
by  two  natives;  these  sledges  run  down  the  hill  with 
surprising  rapidity,  and  the  men  guide  them  round  cor- 
ners by  sticking  out  a  foot  to  port  or  starboard. 

Embarked  at  11.30  a.m. 

At  1.30,  the  men  having  dined,  the  ship  was  got  under 
way  for  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  all  sail  made  for  a 
southerly  course,  to  get  into  the  north-east  trades. 

The  weather  was  now  balmy  and  delightful,  and  so 
genial  that  everybody  lived  on  deck,  and  could  hardly 
be  got  to  turn  in  to  their  cabins,  even  for  sleep. 

Dr.  Staines  became  a  favorite  with  the  officers.  There 
is  a  great  deal  of  science  on  board  a  modern  ship  of  war, 
and,  of  course,  on  some  points  Staines,  a  Cambridge 
wrangler,  and  a  man  of  many  sciences  and  books,  was 
an  oracle.     On  others  he  was  quite  behind,  but  a  ready 


A   SIMPLETON.  223 

and  quick  pupil.  He  made  up  to  the  navigating  officer, 
and  learned,  with  his  help,  to  take  observations.  In 
return  he  was  always  at  any  youngster's  service  in  a 
trigonometrical  problem ;  and  he  amused  the  midshipmen 
and  young  lieutenants  with  analytical  tests ;  some  of 
these  were  applicable  to  certain  liquids  dispensed  by  the 
paymaster.  Under  one  of  them  the  port  wine  assumed 
some  very  droll  colors  and  appearances  not  proper  to 
grape-juice. 

One  lovely  night  that  the  ship  clove  the  dark  sea  into 
a  blaze  of  phosphorescence,  and  her  wake  streamed  like 
a  comet's  tail,  a  waggish  middy  got  a  bucketful  hoisted 
on  deck,  and  asked  the  doctor  to  analyze  that.  He  did 
not  much  like  it,  but  yielded  to  the  general  request; 
and  by  dividing  it  into  smaller  vessels,  and  dropping 
in  various  chemicals,  made  rainbows  and  silvery  flames 
and  what  not.  But  he  declined  to  repeat  the  experi- 
ment :  "  No,  no ;  once  is  philosophy ;  twice  is  cruelty. 
I've  slain  more  than  Samson  already." 

As  for  Tadcaster,  science  had  no  charms  for  him ; 
but  fiction  had ;  and  he  got  it  galore ;  for  he  cruised 
about  the  forecastle,  and  there  the  quartermasters  and 
old  seamen  spun  him  yarns  that  held  him  breathless. 

But  one  day  my  lord  had  a  fit  on  the  quarter-deck, 
and  a  bad  one ;  and  Staines  found  him  smelling  strong 
of  rum.  He  represented  this  to  Captain  Hamilton.  The 
captain  caused  strict  inquiries  to  be  made,  and  it  came 
out  that  my  lord  had  gone  among  the  men,  with  money 
in  both  pockets,  and  bought  a  little  of  one  man's  grog, 
and  a  little  of  another,  and  had  been  sipping  the  furtive 
but  transient  joys  of  solitary  intoxication. 

Captain  Hamilton  talked  to  him  seriously ;  told  him 
it  was  suicide. 

"Nevermind,  old  boy,"  said  the  young  monkey;  "a, 
short  life  and  a  merry  one." 


224  A   SIMPLETON. 

Then  Hamilton  represented  that  it  was  very  ungentle- 
manlike  to  go  and  tempt  poor  Jack  with  his  money,  to 
offend  discipline,  and  get  flogged.  "  How  will  you  feel, 
Tadcaster,  when  you  see  their  backs  bleeding  under  the 
cat  ?  " 

''Oh,  d n  it  all,  George,  don't  do  that,"  says  the 

young  gentleman,  all  in  a  hurry. 

Then  the  commander  saw  he  had  touched  the  right 
chord.  So  he  played  on  it,  till  he  got  Lord  Tadcaster  to 
pledge  his  honor  not  to  do  it  again. 

The  little  fellow  gave  the  pledge,  but  relieved  his 
mind  as  follows :  "  But  it  is  a  cursed  tyrannical  hole, 
this  tiresome  old  ship.  You  can't  do  what  you  like 
in  it." 

'*  Well,  but  no  more  you  can  in  the  grave  :  and  that  is 
the  agreeable  residence  you  were  hurrying  to  but  for  this 
tiresome  old  ship." 

"  Lord  !  no  more  you  can,"  said  Tadcaster,  with  sudden 
candor.     '^  I  forgot  that.^^ 

The  airs  were  very  light ;  the  ship  hardly  moved.  It 
was  beginning  to  get  dull,  when  one  day  a  sail  was 
sighted  on  the  weather-bow,  standing  to  the  eastward: 
on  nearing  her,  she  was  seen,  by  the  cut  of  her  sails,  to 
be  a  man-of-war,  evidently  homeward  bound :  so  Captain 
Hamilton  ordered  the  main-royal  to  be  lowered  (to  ren- 
der signal  more  visible)  and  the  '' demand"  hoisted. 
No  notice  being  taken  of  this,  a  gun  was  fired  to  draw 
her  attention  to  the  signal.  This  had  the  desired  effect ; 
down  went  her  main-royal,  up  went  her  "number." 
On  referring  to  the  signal  book,  she  proved  to  be  the 
Vindictive  from  the  Pacific  Station. 

This  being  ascertained.  Captain  Hamilton,  being  that 
captain's  senior,  signalled  "  Close  and  prepare  to  receive 
letters."  In  obedience  to  this  she  bore  up,  ran  down,  and 
rounded  to ;  the  sail  in  the  Amphitrite  was  also  short- 


A   SIMPLETON.  225 

ened,  the  maintopsail  laid  to  the  mast,  and  a  boat  low- 
ered. The  captain  having  finished  his  despatches,  they, 
with  the  letter-bags,  were  handed  into  the  boat,  which 
shoved  off,  pulled  to  the  lee  side  of  the  Vindictive,  and 
left  the  despatches,  with  Captain  Hamilton's  compli- 
ments. On  its  return,  both  ships  made  sail  on  their 
respective  course,  exchanging  "  bon  voyage "  by  signal, 
and  soon  the  upper  sails  of  the  homeward-bounder  were 
seen  dipping  below  the  horizon :  longing  eyes  followed 
her  on  board  the  Amphitrite. 

How  many  hurried  missives  had  been  written  and  de- 
spatched in  that  half-hour.  But  as  for  Staines,  he  was  a 
man  of  forethought,  and  had  a  volume  ready  for  his  dear 
wife. 

Lord  Tadcaster  wrote  to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne.  His 
epistle,  though  brief,  contained  a  plum  or  two. 

He  wrote  :  "  What  with  sailing,  and  fishing,  and  eating 
nothing  but  roast  meat,  I'm  quite  another  man." 

This  amused  her  ladyship  a  little,  but  not  so  much  as 
the  postscript,  which  was  indeed  the  neatest  thing  in  its 
way  she  had  met  with,  and  she  had  some  experience,  too. 

"P.S.  —  I  say.  Cicely,  I  think  I  should  like  to  marry 
you.     Would  you  mind  ?  " 

Let  us  defy  time  and  space  to  give  you  Lady  Cicely's 
reply :  "  I  should  enjoy  it  of  all  things,  Taddy.  But, 
alas  !  I  am  too  young." 

N.B.  —  She  was  twenty-seven,  and  Tad  sixteen.  To 
be  sure,  Tad  was  four  feet  eleven,  and  she  was  only  five 
feet  six  and  a  half. 

To  return  to  my  narrative  (with  apologies),  this  meet- 
ing of  the  vessels  caused  a  very  agreeable  excitement 
that  day  ;  but  a  greater  was  in  store.  In  the  afternoon, 
Tadcaster,  Staines,  and  the  principal  officers  of  the  ship, 
being  at  dinner  in  the  captain's  cabin,  in  came  the  officer  of 
the  watch,  and  reported  a  large  spar  on  the  weather-bow. 


226  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Well,  close  it,  if  you  can;  and  let  me  know  if  it 
looks  worth  picking  up." 

He  then  explained  to  Lord  Tadcaster  that,  on  a  cruise, 
he  never  liked  to  pass  a  spar,  or  anything  that  might 
possibly  reveal  the  fate  of  some  vessel  or  other. 

In  the  middle  of  his  discourse  the  officer  came  in 
again,  but  not  in  the  same  cool  business  way :  he  ran  in 
excitedly,  and  said,  "Captain,  the  signalman  reports  it 
alive  !  " 

"Alive  ?  — a  spar !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Something 
alive  on  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  alive  itself." 

"How  can  that  be  ?  Hail  him  again.  Ask  him  what 
it  is." 

The  officer  went  out,  and  hailed  the  signalman  at  the 
mast-head.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Sea-sarpint,  I  think." 

This  hail  reached  the  captain's  ears  faintly.  However, 
he  waited  quietly  till  the  officer  came  in  and  reported  it ; 
then  he  burst  out,  "Absurd!  there  is  no  such  creature 
in  the  universe.  What  do  you  say.  Dr.  Staines  ?  —  It  is 
in  your  department." 

"  The  universe  in  my  department,  captain  ?  " 

"  Haw  !  haw !  haw  ! "  went  Fitzroy  and  two  more. 

"No,  you  rogue,  the  serpent." 

Dr.  Staines,  thus  aj)pealed  to,  asked  the  captain  if  he 
had  ever  seen  small  snakes  out  at  sea. 

"Why,  of  course.  Sailed  through  a  mile  of  them 
once,  in  the  archipelago." 

"  Sure  they  were  snakes  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure ;  and  the  biggest  was  not  eight  feet  long." 

"Very  well,  captain;  then  sea-serpents  exist,  and  it 
becomes  a  mere  question  of  size.  Now  which  produces 
the  larger  animals  in  every  kind,  —  land  or  sea  ?  The 
grown  elephant  weighs,  I  believe,  about  five  tons.     The 


A  SIMPLETON.  *2:£l 

very  smallest  of  tue  whale  tribe  weighs  ten ;  and  they 
go  as  high  as  forty  tons.  There  are  smaller  fish  than 
the  whale,  that  are  four  times  as  heavy  as  the  elephant. 
Why  doubt,  then,  that  the  sea  can  breed  a  snake  to 
eclipse  the  boa-constrictor  ?  Even  if  the  creature  had 
never  been  seen,  I  should,  by  mere  reasoning  from  anal- 
ogy, expect  the  sea  to  produce  a  serpent  excelling  the 
boa-constrictor,  as  the  lobster  excels  a  crayfish  of  our 
rivers :  see  how  large  things  grow  at  sea !  the  salmon 
born  in  our  rivers  weighs  in  six  months  a  quarter  of  a 
pound,  or  less ;  it  goes  out  to  sea,  and  comes  back  in  one 
year  weighing  seven  pounds.  So  far  from  doubting  the 
large  sea-serpents,  I  believe  they  exist  by  the  million. 
The  only  thing  that  puzzles  me  is,  why  they  should  ever 
show  a  nose  above  water ;  they  must  be  very  numerous, 
I  think." 

Captain  Hamilton  laughed,  and  said,  "Well,  this  is 
new.  Doctor,  in  compliment  to  your  opinion,  we  will  go 
on  deck,  and  inspect  the  reptile  you  think  so  common." 
He  stopped  at  the  door,  and  said,  "  Doctor,  the  saltcellar 
is  by  you.  Would  you  mind  bringing  it  on  deck?  We 
shall  want  a  little  to  secure  the  animal." 

So  they  all  went  on  deck  right  merrily. 

The  captain  went  up  a  few  ratlines  in  the  mizzen 
rigging,  and  looked  to  Avindward,  laughing  all  the  time  : 
but,  all  of  a  sudden,  there  was  a  great  change  in  his 
manner.     "  Good  heavens,  it  is  alive  —  Luff  !  " 

The  helmsman  obeyed ;  the  news  spread  like  wildfire. 
Mess  kids,  grog  kids,  pipes,  were  all  let  fall,  and  some 
three  hundred  sailors  clustered  on  the  rigging  like  bees, 
to  view  the  long-talked-of  monster. 

It  was  soon  discovered  to  be  moving  lazily  along,  the 
propelling  part  being  under  water,  and  about  twenty-five 
feet  visible.  It  had  a  small  head  for  so  large  a  body, 
and,  as  they  got  nearer,  rough  scales  were  seen,  ending 


228  A    STMPLETONo 

in  smaller  ones  further  down  the  body.  It  had  a  mane, 
but  not  like  a  lion's,  as  some  have  pretended.  If  you 
have  ever  seen  a  pony  with  a  hog-mane,  that  was  more 
the  character  of  this  creature's  mane,  if  mane  it  was. 

They  got  within  a  hundred  yards  of  it,  and  all  saw  it 
plainly,  scarce  believing  their  senses. 

When  they  could  get  no  nearer  for  the  wind,  the  cap- 
tain yiel'ded  to  that  instinct  which  urges  man  always  to 
kill  a  curiosity,  "to  encourage  the  rest,"  as  saith  the 
witty  Voltaire.  "Get  ready  a  gun  —  best  shot  in  the 
ship  lay  and  fire  it." 

This  was  soon  done.  Bang  went  the  gun.  The  shot 
struck  the  water  close  to  the  brute,  and  may  have  struck 
him  under  water,  for  aught  I  know.  Any  way,  it  sorely 
disturbed  him ;  for  he  reared  into  the  air  a  column  of 
serpent's  flesh  that  looked  as  thick  as  the  maintopmast 
of  a  seventy-four,  opened  a  mouth  that  looked  capacious 
enough  to  swallow  the  largest  buoy  anchor  in  the  ship, 
and,  with  a  strange  grating  noise  between  a  bark  and  a 
hiss,  dived,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

When  he  was  gone,  they  all  looked  at  one  another  like 
men  awaking  from  a  dream. 

Staines  alone  took  it  quite  coolly.  It  did  not  surprise 
him  in  the  least.  He  had  always  thought  it  incredible 
that  the  boa-constrictor  should  be  larger  than  any  sea- 
snake.  That  idea  struck  him  as  monstrous  and  absurd. 
He  noted  the  sea-serpent  in  his  journal,  but  with  this 
doubt,  "  Semble  —  more  like  a  very  large  eel." 

Next  day  they  crossed  the  line.  Just  before  noon  a 
young  gentleman  burst  into  Staines's  cabin,  apologizing 
for  want  of  ceremony ;  but  if  Dr.  Staines  would  like  to 
see  the  line,  it  was  now  in  sight  from  the  mizzentop. 

"Glad  of  it,  sir,"  said  Staines;  "collect  it  for  me  in 
the  ship's  buckets,  if  you  please.  I  want  to  send  a  l{n§ 
to  friends  at  home." 


A  SIMPLETON.  229 

Young  gentleman  buried  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
walked  out  in  solemn  silence,  and  resumed  his  position 
on  the  lee-side  of  the  quarter-deck. 

Nevertheless,  this  opening,  coupled  with  what  he  had 
heard  and  read,  made  Staines  a  little  uneasy,  and  he 
went  to  his  friend  Fitzroy,  and  said,  "  Now,  look  here  : 
/  am  at  the  service  of  you  experienced  and  humorous 
mariners.  I  plead  guilty  at  once  to  the  crime  of  never 
having  passed  the  line  ;  so,  make  ready  your  swabs,  and 
lather  me  ;  your  ship's  scraper,  and  shave  me ;  and  let  us 
get  it  over.  But  Lord  Tadcaster  is  nervous,  sensitive, 
prouder  than  he  seems,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  him 
driven  into  a  fit  for  all  the  Neptunes  and  Amphitrites  in 
creation." 

Fitzroy  heard  him  out,  then  burst  out  laughing.  "  Why, 
there  is  none  of  that  game  in  the  Eoyal  Navy,"  said  he. 
"  Hasn't  been  this  twenty  years." 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Dr.  Staines.  "  If  there's  a  form 
of  wit  I  revere,  it  is  practical  joking." 

"  Doctor,  you  are  a  satirical  beggar." 

Staines  told  Tadcaster,  and  he  went  forward  and  chaffed 
his  friend  the  quartermaster,  who  was  one  of  the  fore- 
castle wits. 

"  I  say,  quartermaster,  why  doesn't  Neptune  come  on 
board  ? " 

Dead  silence. 

"  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  poor  old  Nep  ?  " 

"  Gone  ashore  ! "  growled  the  seaman.  "  Last  seen  in 
RatclifC  Highway.  Got  a  shop  there  —  lends  a  shilling 
in  the  pound  on  seamen's  advance  tickets." 

"  Oh  !  and  Amphitrite  ?  " 

"  Married  the  sexton  at  Wapping." 

"  And  the  Nereids  ?  " 

"  Neruds ! "  (scratching  his  head.)  "  I  harn't  kept  my 
eye  on  them  small  craft.  But  I  believe  they  are  selling 
oysters  in  the  port  of  Leith." 


230  A  SIMPLETON. 

A  light  breeze  carried  them  across  the  equator;  but 
soon  after  they  got  becalmed,  and  it  was  dreary  work, 
and  the  ship  rolled  gently,  but  continuously,  and  upset 
Lord  Tadcaster's  stomach  again,  and  quenched  his  manly 
spirit. 

At  last  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  catch  the  south- 
east trade,  but  it  was  so  languid  at  first  that  the  shii) 
barely  moved  through  the  water,  though  they  set  every 
stitch,  and  studding  sails  alow  and  aloft,  till  really  she 
was  acres  of  canvas. 

While  sJie  was  so  creeping  along,  a  man  in  the  mizzen- 
top  noticed  an  enormous  shark  gliding  steadily  in  her 
wake.  This  may  seem  a  small  incident,  yet  it  ran  through 
the  ship  like  wildfire,  and  caused  more  or  less  uneasiness 
in  three  hundred  stout  hearts  ;  so  near  is  every  seaman 
to  death,  and  so  strong  the  persuasion  in  their  supersti- 
tious minds,  that  a  shark  does  not  follow  a  ship  perti- 
naciously without  a  prophetic  instinct  of  calamity. 

Unfortunately,  the  quartermaster  conveyed  this  idea  to 
Lord  Tadcaster,  and  confirmed  it  by  numerous  examples 
to  prove  that  there  was  always  death  at  hand  when  a 
shark  followed  the  ship. 

Thereupon  Tadcaster  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  was 
under  a  relapse,  and  the  shark  was  waiting  for  his  dead 
body  :  he  got  quite  low-spirited. 

Staines  told  Fitzroy.  Fitzroy  said,  "  Shark  be  hanged ! 
I'll  have  him  on  deck  in  half  an  hour."  He  got  leave 
from  the  captain :  a  hook  was  baited  with  a  large  piece 
of  pork,  and  towed  astern  by  a  stout  line,  experienced 
old  hands  attending  to  it  by  turns. 

The  shark  came  up  leisurely,  surveyed  the  bait,  and,  I 
apprehend,  ascertained  the  position  of  the  hook.  At  all 
events,  he  turned  quietly  on  his  back,  sucked  the  bait  ofl", 
and  retired  to  enjoy  it. 

Every  officer  in  the  ship  tried  him  in  turn,  but  with* 


A   SIMPLETON.  231 

out  success ;  for,  if  they  got  ready  for  liim,  and,  the 
moment  he  took  the  bait,  jerked  the  rope  hard,  in  that 
case  he  opened  his  enormous  mouth  so  wide  that  the 
bait  and  hook  came  out  clear.  But,  sooner  or  later,  he 
always  got  the  bait,  and  left  his  captors  the  hook. 

This  went  on  for  days,  and  his  huge  dorsal  fin  always 
in  the  ship's  wake. 

Then  Tadcaster,  who  had  watched  these  experiments 
with  hope,  lost  his  spirit  and  appetite. 

Staines  reasoned  with  him,  but  in  vain.  Somebody 
was  to  die  ;  and,  although  there  were  three  hundred  and 
more  in  the  ship,  he  must  be  the  one.  At  last  he  actu- 
ally made  his  will,  and  threw  himself  into  Staines's  arms, 
and  gave  him  messages  to  his  mother  and  Lady  Cicely ; 
and  ended  by  frightening  himself  into  a  fit. 

This  roused  Staines's  pity,  and  also  put  him  on  his 
mettle.     What,  science  be  beaten  by  a  shark  ! 

He  pondered  the  matter  with  all  his  might ;  and  at 
last  an  idea  came  to  him. 

He  asked  the  captain's  permission  to  try  his  hand.  This 
was  accorded  immediately,  and  the  ship's  stores  placed  at 
his  disposal  very  politely,  but  with  a  sly,  comical  grin. 

Dr.  Staines  got  from  the  carpenter  some  sheets  of  zinc 
and  spare  copper,  and  some  flannel:  these  he  cut  into 
three-inch  squares,  and  soaked  the  flannel  in  acidulated 
water.  He  then  procured  a  quantity  of  bell-wire,  the 
greater  part  of  which  he  insulated  by  wrapping  it  round 
with  hot  gutta  percha.  So  eager  was  he,  that  he  did  not 
turn  in  all  night. 

In  the  morning  he  prepared  what  he  called  an  electric 
fuse  —  he  filled  a  soda-water  bottle  with  gunpowder, 
attaching  some  cork  to  make  it  buoyant,  put  in  the  fuse 
and  bung,  made  it  water-tight,  connected  and  insulated 
his  main  wires  —  enveloped  the  bottle  in  pork  —  tied  a 
line  to  it,  and  let  the  bottle  overboard. 


232  A   SIMPLETON. 

The  captain  and  officers  shook  their  heads  mysteriously. 
The  tars  peeped  and  grinned  from  every  rope  to  see  a 
doctor  try  and  catch  a  shark  with  a  soda-water  bottle 
and  no  hook ;  but  somehow  the  doctor  seemed  to  know 
what  he  was  about,  so  they  hovered  round,  and  awaited 
the  result,  mystified,  but  curious,  and  showing  their 
teeth  from  ear  to  ear. 

"■  The  only  thing  I  fear,"  said  Staines,  "  is  that,  the 
moment  he  takes  the  bait,  he  will  cut  the  wire  before  I 
can  complete  the  circuit,  and  fire  the  fuse." 

Nevertheless,  there  was  another  objection  to  the  success 
of  the  experiment.     The  shark  had  disappeared. 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  "at  all  events,  you  have 
frightened  him  away." 

''  No,"  said  little  Tadcaster,  white  as  a  ghost ;  "  he  is 
only  under  water,  I  know;  waiting  —  waiting." 

"  There  he  is,"  cried  one  in  the  ratlines. 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  taffrail  —  great  excitement. 

"  Keep  clear  of  me,"  said  Staines  quietly  but  firmly. 
"  It  can  only  be  done  at  the  moment  before  he  cuts  the 
wire." 

The  old  shark  swam  slowly  round  the  bait. 

He  saw  it  was  something  new. 

He  swam  round  and  round  it. 

"  He  won't  take  it,"  said  one. 

"He  suspects  something." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will  take  the  meat  somehow,  and  leave 
the  pepper.     Sly  old  fox  ! " 

"  He  has  eaten  many  a  poor  Jack,  that  one." 

The  shark  turned  slowly  on  his  back,  and,  instead  of 
grabbing  at  the  bait,  seemed  to  draw  it  by  gentle  suction 
into  that  capacious  throat,  ready  to  blow  it  out  in  a 
moment  if  it  was  not  all  right. 

The  moment  the  bait  was  drawn  out  of  sight,  Staines 
completed  the  circuit;  the  bottle  exploded  with  a  fury 


A  SBIPLETON.  233 

that  surprised  hiin  and  everybody  who  saw  it ;  a  ton  of 
water  flew  into  the  air,  and  came  down  in  spray,  and  a 
gory  carcass  floated,  belly  uppermost,  visibly  staining 
the  blue  water. 

There  was  a  roar  of  amazement  and  applause. 

The  carcass  was  towed  alongside,  at  Tadcaster's  urgent 
request,  and  then  the  power  of  the  explosion  was  seen. 
Confined,  first  by  the  bottle,  then  by  the  meat,  then  by 
the  fish,  and  lastly  by  the  water,  it  had  exploded  with 
tenfold  power,  had  bloAvn  the  brute's  head  into  a  million 
atoms,  and  had  even  torn  a  great  furrow  in  its  carcass, 
exposing  three  feet  of  the  backbone. 

Taddy  gloated  on  his  enemy^  and  began  to  pick  up 
again  from  that  hour. 

The  wind  improved,  and,  as  usual  in  that  latitude, 
scarcely  varied  a  point.  They  had  a  pleasant  time, — 
private  theatricals  and  other  amusements  till  they  got 
to  latitude  26°  S.  and  longitude  27'  W.  Then  the  trade 
wind  deserted  them.    Light  and  variable  winds  succeeded. 

The  master  complained  of  the  chronometers,  and  the 
captain  thought  it  his  duty  to  verify  or  correct  them ; 
and  so  shaped  his  course  for  the  island  of  Tristan 
d'Acunha,  then  lying  a  little  way  out  of  his  course.  I 
ought,  perhaps,  to  explain  to  the  general  reader  that  the 
exact  position  of  this  island  being  long  ago  established 
and  recorded,  it  was  an  infallible  guide  to  go  by  in  veri- 
fying a  ship's  chronometers. 

Next  day  the  glass  fell  all  day,  and  the  captain  said 
he  should  double-reef  topsails  at  nightfall,  for  something 
was  brewing. 

The  weather,  however,  was  fine,  and  the  ship  was 
sailing  very  fast,  when,  about  half  an  hour  before  sunset, 
the  mast-head  man  hailed  that  there  was  a  bulk  of  timber 
in  sight,  broad  on  the  weather-bow. 

The  signalman  was  sent  up,  and  said  it  looked  like  a 
raft. 


234  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  captain,  who  was  on  deck,  levelled  his  glass  at  it, 
and  made  it  out  a  raft,  with  a  sort  of  rail  to  it,  and  the 
stump  of  a  mast. 

He  ordered  the  of&cer  of  the  watch  to  keep  the  ship 
as  close  to  the  wind  as  possible.  He  should  like  to 
examine  it  if  he  could. 

The  master  represented,  respectfully,  that  it  would  be 
unadvisable  to  beat  to  windward  for  that.  "  I  have  no 
faith  in  our  chronometers,  sir,  and  it  is  important  to 
make  the  island  before  dark ;  fogs  rise  here  so  suddenly." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Bolt ;  then  I  suppose  we  must  let  the 
raft  go." 

*'  Man  on  the  eaft  to  windward  ! "  hailed  the 
signalman. 

This  electrified  the  ship.  The  captain  ran  up  the 
mizzen  rigging,  and  scanned  the  raft,  now  nearly  abeam. 

"  It  is  a  man ! "  he  cried,  and  was  about  to  alter  the 
ship's  course  when,  at  that  moment,  the  signalman  hailed 
again,  — 

"It  is  a  corpse." 

"  How  d'ye  know  ?  " 

"By  the  gulls." 

Then  succeeded  an  exciting  dialogue  between  the 
captain  and  the  master,  who,  being  in  his  department, 
was  very  firm ;  and  went  so  far  as  to  say  he  would  not 
answer  for  the  safety  of  the  ship,  if  they  did  not  sight 
the  land  before  dark. 

The  captain  said,  "  Very  well,"  and  took  a  turn  or  two. 
But  at  last  he  said,  "  No.  Her  Majesty's  ship  must  not 
pass  a  raft  with  a  man  on  it,  dead  or  alive." 

He  then  began  to  give  the  necessary  orders ;  but  before 
they  were  all  out  of  his  mouth,  a  fatal  interruption 
occurred. 

Tadcaster  ran  into  Dr.  Staines's  cabin,  crying,  "  A  raft 
with  a  corpse  close  by  ! " 


A  SIMPLETON.  235 

Staines  sprang  to  the  quarter  port  to  see,  and  craning 
eagerly  out,  the  lower  port  chain,  which  had  not  been 
well  secured,  slipped,  the  port  gave  way,  and  as  his 
whole  weight  rested  on  it,  canted  him  headlong  into  the 
sea. 

A  smart  seaman  in  the  forechains  saw  the  accident, 
and  instantly  roared  out,  "  Man  overboard  ! "  a  cry  that 
sends  a  thrill  through  a  ship's  very  ribs. 

Another  smart  fellow  cut  the  life-buoy  adrift  so  quickly 
that  it  struck  the  water  within  ten  yards  of  Staines. 

The  officer  of  the  watch,  without  the  interval  of  half  a 
moment,  gave  the  right  orders,  in  the  voice  of  a  stentor: 

"  Let  go  life-buoy. 

''  Life-boat's  crew  away. 

"  Hands  shorten  sail. 

"  Mainsel  up. 

"  Main  topsel  to  mast." 

These  orders  were  executed  with  admirable  swiftness. 
Meantime  there  was  a  mighty  rush  of  feet  throughout 
the  frigate,  every  hatchway  was  crammed  with  men  eager 
to  force  their  way  on  deck. 

In  five  seconds  the  middy  of  the  watch  and  half 
her  crew  were  in  the  lee  cutter,  fitted  with  Clifford's 
apparatus. 

"  Lower  away ! "  cried  the  excited  officer ;  "  the  others 
will  come  down  by  the  pendants." 

The  man  stationed,  sitting  on  the  bottom  boards,  eased 
away  roundly,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  hitch  —  the 
boat  would  go  no  farther. 

"  Lower  away  there  in  the  cutter !  Why  don't  you 
lower  ? "  screamed  the  captain,  who  had  come  over  to 
leeward  expecting  to  see  the  boat  in  the  water, 

"The  rope  has  swollen,  sir,  and  the  pendants  won't 
unreeve,"  cried  the  middy  in  agony. 

"  Volunteers  for  the  weather-boat ! "  shouted  the  first 


236  A   SIMPLETON. 

lieutenant ;  but  the  order  was  unnecessary,  for  more  than 
the  proper  number  were  in  her  already. 

"Plug  in  —  lower  away." 

But  mishaps  never  come  singly.  Scarcely  had  this 
boat  gone  a  foot  from  the  davit,  than  the  volunteer  wlio 
was  acting  as  coxswain,  in  reaching  out  for  something, 
inadvertently  let  go  the  line,  which,  in  Kynaston's  appa- 
ratus, keeps  the  tackles  hooked ;  consequently,  down 
went  the  boat  and  crew  twenty  feet,  with  a  terrific  crash ; 
the  men  were  struggling  for  their  lives,  and  the  boat  was 
stove. 

But,  meantime,  more  men  having  been  sent  into  the 
lee  cutter,  their  weight  caused  the  pendants  to  render, 
and  the  boat  got  afloat,  and  was  soon  employed  picking 
up  the  struggling  crew. 

Seeing  this.  Lieutenant  Fitzroy  collected  some  hands, 
and  lowered  the  life-boat  gig,  which  was  fitted  with 
common  tackles,  got  down  into  her  himself  by  the  falls, 
and  pulling  round  to  windward,  shouted  to  the  signalman 
for  directions. 

The  signalman  was  at  his  post,  and  had  fixed  his  eye 
on  the  man  overboard,  as  his  duty  was ;  but  his  mess- 
mate was  in  the  stove  boat,  and  he  had  cast  one  anxious 
look  down  to  see  if  he  was  saved,  and,  sad  to  relate,  in 
that  one  moment  he  had  lost  sight  of  Staines ;  the  sudden 
darkness  —  there  was  no  twilight  —  confused  him  more, 
and  the  ship  had  increased  her  drift. 

Fitzroy,  however,  made  a  rapid  calculation,  and  pulled 
to  windward  with  all  his  might.  He  was  followed  in 
about  a  minute  by  the  other  sound  boat  powerfully 
manned,  and  both  boats  melted  away  into  the  night. 

There  was  a  long  and  anxious  suspense,  during  which 
it  became  pitch  dark,  and  the  ship  burned  blue  lights  to 
mark  her  position  more  plainly  to  the  crews  that  were 
groping  the  sea  for  that  beloved  passenger. 


A  SIMPLETON.  237 

Captain  Hamilton  had  no  doubt  that  the  fate  of  Staines 
was  decided,  one  way  or  other,  long  before  this ;  but  he 
kept  quiet  until  he  saw  the  plain  signs  of  a  squall  at 
hand.  Then,  as  he  was  responsible  for  the  safety  of 
boats  and  ship,  he  sent  up  rockets  to  recall  them. 

The  cutter  came  alongside  first.  Lights  were  poured 
on  her,  and  quavering  voices  asked,  "  Have  you  got 
him  ?  " 

The  answer  was  dead  silence,  and  sorrowful,  drooping 
heads. 

Sadly  and  reluctaiitly  was  the  order  given  to  hoist  the 
boat  in. 

Then  the  gig  came  alongside.  Fitzroy  seated  in  her, 
with  his  hands  before  his  face ;  the  men  gloomy  and  sad. 

"Gone!  Gone!" 

Soon  the  ship  was  battling  a  heavy  squall. 

At  midnight  all  quiet  again,  and  hove  to.  Then,  at 
the  request  of  many,  the  bell  was  tolled,  and  the  ship's 
company  mustered  bareheaded,  and  many  a  stout  seaman 
in  tears,  as  the  last  service  was  read  for  Christopher 
Staines. 


238  A  smPLETOiT. 


CHAPTER  XTV. 

Rosa  fell  ill  with  grief  at  tlie  hotel,  and  could  not 
move  for  some  days ;  but  the  moment  she  was  strong 
enough,  she  insisted  on  leaving  Plymouth :  like  all 
wounded  things,  she  must  drag  herself  home. 

But  what  a  home !  How  empty  it  struck,  and  she 
heart-sick  and  desolate.  Now  all  the  familiar  places 
wore  a  new  aspect:  the  little  yard,  where  he  had  so 
walked  and  waited,  became  a  temple  to  her,  and  she 
came  out  and  sat  in  it,  and  now  first  felt  to  the  full  how 
much  he  had  suffered  there  —  with  what  fortitude.  She 
crept  about  the  house,  and  kissed  the  chair  he  had  sat 
in,  and  every  much-used  place  and  thing  of  the  departed. 

Her  shallow  nature  deepened  and  deepened  under  this 
bereavement,  of  which,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  shud- 
der, she  was  the  cause.  And  this  is  the  course  of  nature ; 
there  is  nothing  like  suffering  to  enlighten  the  giddy 
brain,  widen  the  narrow  mind,  improve  the  trivial  heart. 

As  her  regrets  were  tender  and  deep,  so  her  vows  of 
repentance  were  sincere.  Oh,  what  a  wife  she  would 
make  when  he  came  back !  how  thoughtful !  how  pru- 
dent !  how  loyal !  and  never  have  a  secret.  She  who  had 
once  said,  "  What  is  the  use  of  your  writing  ?  nobody 
will  publish  it,"  now  collected  and  perused  every  written 
scrap.  With  simple  affection  she  even  locked  up  his 
very  waste-paper  basket,  full  of  fragments  he  had  torn, 
or  useless  papers  he  had  thrown  there,  before  he  went  to 
Plymouth. 

In  the  drawer  of  his  writing-table  she  found  his  diary. 
It  was  a  thick  quarto :  it  began  with  their  marriage,  and 


A   SIMPLETON.  239 

ended  with  his  leaving  home  —  for  then  he  took  another 
volume.  This  diary  became  her  Bible  ;  she  studied  it 
daily,  till  her  tears  hid  his  lines.  The  entries  were  very 
miscellaneous,  very  exact ;  it  was  a  map  of  their  married 
life.  But  what  she  studied  most  was  his  observations 
on  her  own  character,  so  scientific,  yet  so  kindly ;  and 
his  scholar-like  and  wise  reflections.  The  book  was  an 
unconscious  picture  of  a  great  mind  she  had  hitherto 
but  glanced  at :  now  she  saw  it  all  plain  before  her ; 
saw  it,  understood  it,  adored  it,  mourned  it.  Such  women 
are  shallow,  not  for  want  of  a  head  upon  their  shoulders, 
but  of  attention.  They  do  not  really  study  anything : 
they  have  been  taught  at  their  schools  the  bad  art  of 
skimming ;  but  let  their  hearts  compel  their  brains  to 
think  and  think,  the  result  is  considerable.  The  deepest 
philosopher  never  fathomed  a  character  more  thoroughly 
than  this  poor  child  fathomed  her  philosopher,  when 
she  had  read  his  journal  ten  or  eleven  times,  and  bedewed 
it  with  a  thousand  tears. 

One  passage  almost  cut  her  more  intelligent  heart  in 
twain :  — 

"  This  dark  day  I  have  done  a  thing  incredible.  I 
have  spoken  with  brutal  harshness  to  the  innocent 
creature  I  have  sworn  to  protect.  She  had  run  in  debt, 
through  inexperience,  and  that  unhappy  timidity  which 
makes  women  conceal  an  error  till  it  ramifies,  by  con- 
cealment, into  a  fault;  and  I  must  storm  and  rave  at 
her,  till  she  actually  fainted  away.  Brute !  Ruffian ! 
Monster  !  And  she,  how  did  she  punish  me,  poor  lamb  ? 
By  soft  and  tender  words  —  like  a  lady,  as  she  is.  Oh, 
my  sweet  Rosa,  I  wish  you  could  know  how  you  are 
avenged.  Talk  of  the  scourge  —  the  cat !  I  would  be 
thankful  for  two  dozen  lashes.  Ah !  there  is  no  need, 
I  think,  to  punish  a  man  who  has  been  cruel  to  a  woman. 
Let  him  alone.  He  will  punish  himself  more  than  you 
can,  if  he  is  really  a  man." 


240  A   SIMPLETON. 

From  the  date  of  that  entry,  this  self-reproach  and 
self-torture  kept  cropping  up  every  now  and  then  in  the 
diary ;  and  it  appeared  to  have  been  not  entirely  without 
its  influence  in  sending  Staines  to  sea,  though  the  main 
reason  he  gave  was  that  his  Kosa  might  have  the  com- 
forts and  luxuries  she  had  enjoyed  before  she  married 
him. 

One  day,  while  she  was  crying  over  this  diary.  Uncle 
Philip  called ;  but  not  to  comfort  her,  I  promise  you. 
He  burst  on  her,  irate,  to  take  her  to  task.  He  had 
returned,  learned  Christopher's  departure,  and  settled 
the  reason  in  his  own  mind :  that  uxorious  fool  was  gone 
to  sea  by  a  natural  reaction ;  his  eyes  were  open  to  his 
wife  at  last,  and  he  was  sick  of  her  folly  ;  so  he  had  fled 
to  distant  climes,  as  who  would  not,  that  could  ? 

"  So,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  my  nephew  is  gone  to  sea, 
I  find  —  all  in  a  hurry.  Pray  may  I  ask  what  he  has 
done  that  for  ?  " 

It  was  a  very  simple  question,  yet  it  did  not  elicit 
a  very  plain  answer.  She  only  stared  at  this  abrupt 
inquisitor,  and  then  cried,  piteously,  "  Oh,  Uncle  Philip ! " 
and  burst  out  sobbing. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"You  will  hate  me  now.  He  is  gone  to  make  money 
for  me  ;  and  I  would  rather  have  lived  on  a  crust.  Uncle 
—  don't  hate  me.  I'm  a  poor,  bereaved,  heart-broken 
creature,  that  repents." 

"  Repents  !  heigho !  why,  what  have  you  been  up  to 
now,  ma'am  ?  No  great  harm,  I'll  be  bound.  Flirting 
a  little  with  some  fool  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Flirting !     Me  !  a  married  woman." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure ;  I  forgot.  Why,  surely  he  has  not 
deserted  you." 

"  My  Christopher  desert  me  !  He  loves  me  too  well ; 
far  more  than  I  deserve  j   but  not  more  than   I  will. 


A   SIMPLETON.  241 

Uncle  Philip,  I  am  too  confused  and  wretched  to  tell 
you  all  that  has  happened ;  but  I  know  you  love  him, 
though  you  had  a  tiff:  uncle,  he  called  on  you,  to  shake 
hands  and  ask  your  forgiveness,  poor  fellow !  He  was 
so  sorry  you  were  away.  Please  read  his  dear  diary : 
it  will  tell  you  all,  better  than  his  poor  foolish  wife  can. 
I  know  it  by  heart.  I'll  show  you  where  you  and  he 
quarrelled  about  me.  There,  see."  And  she  showed  him 
the  passage  with  her  finger.  "  He  never  told  me  it  was 
that,  or  I  would  have  come  and  begged  your  pardon  on 
my  knees.  But  see  how  sorry  he  was.  There,  see. 
And  now  I'll  show  you  another  place,  where  my  Chris- 
topher speaks  of  your  many,  many  acts  of  kindness. 
There,  see.  And  now  please  let  me  show  you  how  he 
longed  for  reconciliation.  There,  see.  And  it  is  the 
same  through  the  book.  And  now  I'll  show  you  how 
grieved  he  was  to  go  without  your  blessing.  I  told  him 
I  was  sure  you  would  give  him  that,  and  him  going 
away.  Ah,  me  !  will  he  ever  return  ?  Uncle  dear,  don't 
hate  me.  What  shall  I  do,  now  he  is  gone,  if  you  disown 
me  ?     Why,  you  are  the  only  Staines  left  me  to  love." 

"  Disown  you,  ma'am  !  that  I'll  never  do.  You  are  a 
good-hearted  young  woman,  I  find.  There,  run  and  dry 
your  eyes ;  and  let  me  read  Christopher's  diary  all 
through.     Then  I  shall  see  how  the  land  lies." 

Rosa  complied  with  his  proposal ;  and  left  him  alone 
while  she  bathed  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  compose  herself, 
for  she  was  all  trembling  at  this  sudden  irruption. 

When  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  he  was  walk- 
ing about,  looking  grave  and  thoughtful. 

"It  is  the  old  story,"  said  he,  rather  gently:  "aviis- 
under standing.  How  wise  our  ancestors  were  that  first 
used  that  word  to  mean  a  quarrel!  for,  look  into  twenty 
quarrels,  and  you  shall  detect  a  score  of  mis-under-stand- 
ings.  Yet  our  American  cousins  must  go  and  substitute 
16 


242  A  SIMPLETON. 

the  un-ideaed  word  '  difficulty ; '  tliat  is  wonderful.  1 
had  no  quarrel  with  him:  delighted  to  see  either  of  you. 
But  I  had  called  twice  on  him ;  so  I  thought  he  ought  to 
get  over  his  temper,  and  call  on  a  tried  friend  like  me. 
A  misunderstanding !  Now,  my  dear,  let  us  have  no 
more  of  these  misunderstandings.  You  will  always  be 
welcome  at  my  house,  and  I  shall  often  come  here  and 
look  after  you  and  your  interests.  What  do  you  mean 
to  do,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  to  go  home  to  my  father,  if  he  will  be 
troubled  with  me.     I  have  written  to  him." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  the  Bijou  ?" 

"  My  Christie  thought  I  should  like  to  part  with  it,  and 
the  furniture  —  but  his  own  writing-desk  and  his  chair, 
no,  I  never  will,  and  his  little  clock.  Oh !  oh  !  oh !  — 
But  I  remember  what  you  said  about  agents,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do ;  for  I  shall  be  away." 

"  Then,  leave  it  to  me.  I'll  come  and  live  here  with 
one  servant ;  and  I'll  soon  sell  it  for  you." 

"  You,  Uncle  Philip  !  " 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  "  said  he  roughly. 

"  That  will  be  a  great  trouble  and  discomfort  to  you, 
I'm  afraid." 

"  If  I  find  it  so,  I'll  soon  drop  it.  I'm  not  the  fool  to 
put  myself  out  for  anybody.  When  you  are  ready  to  go 
out,  send  me  word,  and  I'll  come  in." 

Soon  after  this  he  bustled  off.  He  gave  her  a  sort  of 
hurried  kiss  at  parting,  as  if  he  was  ashamed  of  it,  and 
wanted  it  over  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Next  day  her  father  came,  condoled  with  her  politely, 
assured  her  there  was  nothing  to  cry  about ;  husbands 
were  a  sort  of  functionaries  that  generally  went  to  sea 
at  some  part  of  their  career,  and  no  harm  ever  came  of 
it.  On  the  contrary,  "Absence  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder,"  said  this  judicious  parent. 


A   SEMPLETON.  243 

This  sentiment  happened  to  be  just  a  little  too  true, 
and  set  the  daughter  cr^-ing  bitterly.  But  she  fought 
against  it.  "  Oh  no  I  "  said  she,  "  I  mustn't.  I  will  not 
be  always  crying  in  Kent  Villa." 

"  Lord  forbid ! " 

*'  I  shall  get  over  it  in  time  —  a  little." 

"  Why,  of  course  you  will.  But  as  to  your  coming  to 
Kent  Villa,  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  be  very  comfort- 
able there.  You  know  I  am  superannuated.  Only  got 
my  pension  now." 

"  I  know  that,  papa :  and  —  why,  that  is  one  of  the 
reasons.  I  have  a  good  income  now ;  and  I  thought  if 
we  put  our  means  together  "  — 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  very  different  thing.  You  will  want  a 
carriage,  I  suppose.     I  have  put  mine  down." 

"  No  carriage ;  no  horse ;  no  footman ;  no  luxury  of 
any  kind  till  my  Christie  comes  back.  I  abhor  dress  ;  I 
abhor  expense  ;  I  loathe  everything  I  once  liked  too  well ; 
I  detest  every  folly  that  has  parted  us ;  and  I  hate  my- 
self worst  of  all.  Oh  !  oh !  oh !  Forgive  me  for  crying 
so." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  there  are  associations  about  this 
place'  that  upset  you.  I  shall  go  and  make  ready  for 
you,  dear ;  and  then  you  can  come  as  soon  as  you  like." 

He  bestowed  a  paternal  kiss  on  her  brow,  and  glided 
doucely  away  before  she  could  possibly  cry  again. 

The  very  next  week  Rosa  was  at  Kent  Villa,  with  the 
relics  of  her  husband  about  her ;  his  chair,  his  writing- 
table,  his  clock,  his  waste-paper  basket,  a  very  deep  and 
large  one.  She  had  them  all  in  her  bedroom  at  Kent 
Villa. 

Here  the  days  glided  quietly  but  heavily. 

She  derived  some  comfort  from  Uncle  Philip.  His 
rough,  friendly  way  was  a  tonic,  and  braced  her.  He 
called  several  times  about  the  Bijou.     Told  her  he  had 


244  A   SIMPLETON. 

put  up  enormous  boards  all  over  the  house,  and  puffed  it 
finely.  "  I  have  had  a  hundred  agents  at  me,"  said  he ; 
"  and  the  next  thing,  I  hope,  will  be  one  customer ;  that 
is  about  the  proportion."  At  last  he  wrote  her  he  had 
hooked  a  victim,  and  sold  the  lease  and  furniture  for 
nine  hundred  guineas.  Staines  had  assigned  the  lease  to 
Eosa,  so  she  had  full  powers ;  and  Philip  invested  the 
money,  and  two  hundred  more  she  gave  him,  in  a  little 
mortgage  at  six  per  cent. 

Now  came  the  letter  from  Madeira.  It  gave  her  new 
life.  Christopher  was  well,  contented,  hopeful.  His 
example  should  animate  her.  She  would  bravely  bear 
the  present,  and  share  his  hopes  of  the  future :  with 
these  brighter  views  Nature  co-operated.  The  instincts 
of  approaching  maternity  brightened  the  future.  She 
fell  into  gentle  reveries,  and  saw  her  husband  return, 
and  saw  herself  place  their  infant  in  his  arms  with  all  a 
wife's,  a  mother's  pride. 

In  due  course  came  another  long  letter  from  the  equa- 
tor, with  a  full  journal,  and  more  words  of  hope.  Home 
in  less  than  a  year,  with  reputation  increased  by  this 
last  cure ;  home,  to  part  no  more. 

Ah !  what  a  changed  wife  he  should  find !  how  frugal, 
how  candid,  how  full  of  appreciation,  admiration,  and 
love,  of  the  noblest,  dearest  husband  that  ever  breathed ! 

Lady  Cicely  Trelierne  waited  some  weeks,  to  let 
kinder  sentiments  return.  She  then  called  in  Dear 
Street,  but  found  Mrs.  Staines  was  gone  to  Gravesend. 
She  wrote  to  her. 

In  a  few  days  she  received  a  reply,  studiously  polite 
and  cold. 

This  persistent  injustice  mortified  her  at  last.  She 
said  to  herself,  "  Does  she  think  his  departure  was  no  loss 
to  me  ?  It  was  to  her  interests,  as  well  as  his,  I  sacri- 
ficed my  own  seliish  wishes.     I  will  write  to  her  no  more." 


A   SIMPLETON.  245 

This  resolution  she  steadily  maintained.  It  was 
shaken  for  a  moment,  when  she  heard,  by  a  side  wind, 
that  Mrs.  Staines  was  fast  approaching  the  great  pain 
and  peril  of  women.  Then  she  wavered.  But  no.  She 
prayed  for  her  by  name  in  the  Liturgy,  but  she  troubled 
her  no  more. 

This  state  of  things  lasted  some  six  weeks,  when  she 
received  a  letter  from  her  cousin  Tadcaster,  close  on  the 
heels  of  his  last,  to  which  she  had  replied  as  I  have  in- 
dicated. She  knew  his  handwriting,  and  opened  it  with 
a  smile. 

That  smile  soon  died  off  her  horror-stricken  face.  The 
letter  ran  thus  :  — 

Tristan  d'Acunha,  Jan.  5. 

Dear  Cicely,  — A  terrible  thing  has  just  happened.  We 
signalled  a  raft,  with  a  body  on  it,  and  jDoor  Dr.  Staines  leaned 
out  of  the  port-hole,  and  fell  overboard.  Three  boats  were  let 
down  after  him  ;  but  it  all  went  wrong,  somehow,  or  it  was  too 
late.  They  could  never  find  him,  he  was  drowned ;  and  the 
funeral  service  was  read  for  the  poor  fellow. 

We  ai'e  all  sadly  cut  up.  Everybody  loved  him.  It  was 
dreadfiil  next  day  at  dinner,  when  his  chair  was  empty.  The 
very  sailors  cried  at  not  finding  him. 

First  of  all,  I  thought  I  ought  to  write  to  his  wife.  I  know 
where  she  lives ;  it  is  called  Kent  Villa,  Gravesend.  But  I 
was  afraid ;  it  might  kill  her :  and  you  are  so  good  and  sensi- 
ble, I  thought  I  had  better  write  to  you,  and  perhaps  you  could 
break  it  to  her  by  degrees,  before  it  gets  in  all  the  papers. 

I  send  this  from  the  island,  by  a  small  vessel,  and  paid  him 
ten  pounds  to  take  it. 

Your  affectionate  cousin, 

Tadcastek. 

Words  are  powerless  to  describe  a  blow  like  this  :  the 
amazement,  the  stupor,  the  reluctance  to  believe  —  the 
rising,  swelling,  surging  horror.  She  sat  like  a  woman 
of  stone,  crumpling  the  letter.     ^'  Dead  !  —  dead  ?  " 


246  A  SIMPLETON. 

For  a  long  time  this  was  all  her  mind  could  realize  — 
that  Christopher  Staines  was  dead.  He  who  had  been 
so  full  of  life  and  thought  and  genius,  and  worthier  to 
live  than  all  the  world,  was  dead ;  and  a  million  no- 
bodies were  still  alive,  and  he  was  dead. 

She  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  and  all  the  power  left  her 
limbs.     She  could  not  move  a  hand. 

But  suddenly  she  started  up  ;  for  a  noble  instinct  told 
her  this  blow  must  not  fall  on  the  wife  as  it  had  on  her, 
and  in  her  time  of  peril. 

She  had  her  bonnet  on  in  a  moment,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  darted  out  of  the  house  without  her 
maid.  She  flew  along  the  streets,  scarcely  feeling  the 
ground.  She  got  to  Dear  Street,  and  obtained  Philip 
Staines's  address.  She  flew  to  it,  and  there  learned  he 
was  down  at  Kent  Villa,  Instantly  she  telegraphed  to 
her  maid  to  come  down  to  her  at  Gravesend,  with  things 
for  a  short  visit,  and  wait  for  her  at  the  station ;  and  she 
went  down  by  train  to  Gravesend. 

Hitherto  she  had  walked  on  air,  driven  by  one  over- 
powering impulse.  Now,  as  she  sat  in  the  train,  she 
thought  a  little  of  herself.  What  was  before  her  ?  To 
break  to  Mrs.  Staines  that  her  husband  was  dead.  To 
tell  her  all  her  misgivings  were  more  than  justified. 
To  encounter  her  cold  civility,  and  let  her  know,  inch  by 
inch,  it  must  be  exchanged  for  curses  and  tearing  of 
hair ;  her  husband  was  dead.  To  tell  her  this,  and  in 
the  telling  of  it,  perhaps  reveal  that  it  was  her  great 
bereavement,  as  well  as  the  wife's,  for  she  had  a  deeper 
affection  for  him  than  she  ought. 

Well,  she  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf,  trembled  like 
one  in  an  ague,  even  as  she  sat.     But  she  persevered. 

A  noble  woman  has  her  courage ;  not  exactly  the  same 
as  that  which  leads  forlorn  hopes  against  bastions 
bristling  with  rifles  and  tongued  with  flames  and 
thunderbolts ;  yet  not  inferior  to  it. 


A  SIMPLETON.  247 

Tadcaster,  small  and  dull,  but  noble  by  birth  and 
instinct,  had  seen  the  right  thing  for  her  to  do  ;  and  she, 
of  the  same  breed,  and  nobler  far,  had  seen  it  too ;  and 
the  great  soul  steadily  drew  the  recoiling  heart  and 
quivering  body  to  this  fiery  trial,  this  act  of  humanity  — 
to  do  which  was  terrible  and  hard,  to  shirk  it,  cowardly 
and  cruel. 

She  reached  Gravesend,  and  drove  in  a  fly  to  Kent 
Villa. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  maid. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Staines  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  she  is  at  home  :  but  —  " 

"  Can  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am,  not  at  present." 

"  But  I  must  see  her.  I  am  an  old  friend.  Please 
take  her  my  card.     Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

The  maid  hesitated,  and  looked  confused,  "  Perhaps 
you  don't  know,  ma'am.  Mrs.  Staines,  she  is  —  the 
doctor  have  been  in  the  house  all  day." 

"  Ah,  the  doctor !  I  believe  Dr.  Philip  Staines  is 
here." 

"  Why,  that  is  the  doctor,  ma'am.     Yes,  he  is  here." 

"  Then,  pray  let  me  see  him  —  or  no ;  I  had  better  see 
Mr.  Lusignan." 

"  Master  have  gone  out  for  the  day,  ma'am ;  but  if 
you'll  step  in  the  drawing-room,  I'll  tell  the  doctor." 

Lady  Cicely  waited  in  the  drawing-room  some  time, 
heart-sick  and  trembling. 

At  last  Dr.  Philip  came  in,  with  her  card  in  his  hand, 
looking  evidently  a  little  cross  at  the  interruption. 
'■'  iSTow,  madam,  please  tell  me,  as  briefly  as  you  can, 
what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Are  you  Dr.  Philip  Staines  ?  " 

"  I  am,  madam,  at  your  service  —  for  five  minutes. 
Can't  quit  my  patient  long,  just  now." 


248  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Oh,  sir,  thank  God  I  have  found  you.  Be  prepared 
for  ill  news  —  sad  news  —  a  terrible  calamity  —  I  can't 
speak.  Kead  that,  sir."  And  she  handed  him  Tadcaster's 
note. 

He  took  it,  and  read  it. 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  Christopher  !  my 
poor,  poor  boy !  "  he  groaned.  But  suddenly  a  terrible 
anxiety  seized  him.     "  Who  knows  of  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  myself,  sir.     I  came  here  to  break  it  to  her." 

"  You  are  a  good,  kind  lady,  for  being  so  thoughtful. 
Madam,  if  this  gets  to  my  niece's  ears,  it  will  kill  her, 
as  sure  as  we  stand  here." 

''  Then  let  us  keep  it  from  her.  Command  me,  sir. 
I  will  do  anything.  I  will  live  here  —  take  the  letters 
in  —  the  journals  —  anything." 

"  No,  no  ;  you  have  done  your  part,  and  God  bless  you 
for  it.  You  must  not  stay  here.  Your  ladyship's  very 
presence,  and  your  agitation,  would  set  the  servants 
talking,  and  some  idiot-fiend  among  them  babbling  — 
there  is  nothing  so  terrible  as  a  fool." 

*'May  I  remain  at  the  inn,  sir;  just  one  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  wish  you  would ;  and  I  will  run  over,  if 
all  is  well  with  her  —  well  with  her  ?  poor  unfortunate 
girl!" 

Lady  Cicely  saw  he  wished  her  gone,  and  she  went 
directly. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  same  evening,  as  she  lay  on  a  sofa 
in  the  best  room  of  the  inn,  attended  by  her  maid,  Dr. 
Philip  Staines  came  to  her.     She  dismissed  her  maid. 

Dr.  Philip  was  too  old,  in  other  words,  had  lost  too 
many  friends,  to  be  really  broken  down  by  bereavement ; 
but  he  was  strangely  subdued.  The  loud  tones  were  out 
of  him,  and  the  loud  laugh,  and  even  the  keen  sneer. 
Yet  he  was  the  same  man ;  but  with  a  gentler  surface  ; 
and  this  was  not  without  its  pathos. 


A  SIMPLETON.  249 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  lie  gravely  and  quietly.  "  It  is 
as  it  always  lias  been.  *  As  is  the  race  of  leaves,  so  that 
of  man.'  When  one  falls,  another  comes.  Here's  a  little 
Cliristopher  come,  in  place  of  him  that  is  gone  :  a  brave, 
beautiful  boy,  ma'am ;  the  finest  but  one  I  ever  brought 
into  the  world.  He  is  come  to  take  his  father's  place  in 
our  hearts  —  I  see  you  valued  his  poor  father,  ma'am  — 
but  he  comes  too  late  for  me.  At  your  age,  ma'am, 
friendships  come  naturally ;  they  spring  like  loves  in 
the  soft  heart  of  youth :  at  seventy,  the  gate  is  not  so 
open ;  the  soil  is  more  sterile.  I  shall  never  care  for 
another  Christopher;  never  see  another  grow  to  man's 
estate." 

"The  mother,  sir,"  sobbed  Lady  Cicely;  "the  poor 
mother  ?  " 

"  Like  them  all  —  poor  creature  :  in  heaven,  madam  ; 
in  heaven.  New  life  !  new  existence  !  a  new  character. 
All  the  pride,  glory,  rapture,  and  amazement  of  maternity 
—  thanks  to  her  ignorance,  which  we  must  prolong,  or 
I  would  not  give  one  straw  for  her  life,  or  her  son's.  I 
shall  never  leave  the  house  till  she  does  know  it,  and 
come  when  it  may,  I  dread  the  hour.  She  is  not  framed 
by  nature  to  bear  so  deadly  a  shock." 

"  Her  father,  sir.  Would  he  not  be  the  best  person  to 
break  it  to  her  ?     He  was  out  to-day." 

"  Her  father,  ma'am  ?  I  shall  get  no  help  from  him. 
He  is  one  of  those  soft,  gentle  creatures,  that  come  into 
the  world  with  what  your  canting  fools  call  a  mission ; 
and  his  mission  is  to  take  care  of  number  one.  Xot 
dishonestly,  mind  you,  nor  violently,  nor  rudely,  but 
doucely  and  calmly.  The  care  a  brute  like  me  takes 
of  his  vitals,  that  care  Lusignan  takes  of  his  outer  cuticle. 
His  number  one  is  a  sensitive  plant.  No  scenes,  no 
noise ;  nothing  painful  —  by-the-by,  the  little  creature 
that  writes  in  the  papers,  and  calls  calamities  2^«''"/"^,  is 


250  A  SIMPLETON. 

of  Lusignan's  breed.  Out  to-day  !  of  course  lie  was  out, 
ma'am  :  he  knew  from  me  his  daughter  would  be  in  peril 
all  day,  so  he  visited  a  friend.  He  knew  his  own  tender- 
ness, and  evaded  paternal  sensibilities :  a  self -defender. 
I  count  on  no  help  from  that  charming  man." 

"  A  man  !  I  call  such  creachaas  weptiles  ! "  said  Lady 
Cicely,  her  ghastly  cheek  coloring  for  a  moment. 

"Then  you  give  them  a  false  importance." 

In  the  course  of  this  interview,  Lady  Cicely  accused 
herself  sadly  of  having  interfered  between  man  and  wife, 
and  with  the  best  intentions  brought  about  this  cruel 
calamity.  *'  Judge,  then,  sir,"  said  she,  "  how  grateful 
I  am  to  you  for  undertaking  this  cruel  task.  I  was  her 
schoolfellow,  sir,  and  I  love  her  dearly ;  but  she  has 
turned  against  me,  and  now,  oh,  with  what  horror  she 
will  regard  me  !  " 

"  Madam,"  said  the  doctor,  "  there  is  nothing  more 
mean  and  unjust  than  to  judge  others  by  events  that 
none  could  foresee.  Your  conscience  is  clear.  You  did 
your  best  for  my  poor  nephew  :  but  Fate  willed  it  other- 
wise. As  for  my  niece,  she  has  many  virtues,  but  justice 
is  one  you  must  not  look  for  in  that  quarter.  Justice 
requires  brains.  It's  a  virtue  the  heart  does  not  deal  in. 
You  must  be  content  with  your  own  good  conscience, 
and  an  old  man's  esteem.  You  did  all  for  the  best; 
and  this  very  day  you  have  done  a  good,  kind  action. 
God  bless  you  for  it !  " 

Then  he  left  her  ;  and  next  day  she  went  sadly  home, 
and  for  many  a  long  day  the  hollow  world  saw  nothing 
of  Cicely  Treherne. 

When  Mr.  Lusignan  came  home  that  night.  Dr.  Philip 
told  him  the  miserable  story,  and  his  fears.  He  received 
it,  not  as  Philip  had  expected.  The  bachelor  had  counted 
without  his  dormant  paternity.  He  was  terror-stricken 
—  abject —  fell  into  a  chair,  and  wrung  his  hands,  and 


A   SIMPLETON.  251 

wept  piteously.  To  keep  it  from  his  daughter  till  she 
should  be  stronger,  seemed  to  him  chimerical,  impossible. 
However,  Philip  insisted  it  must  be  done  ;  and  he  must 
make  some  excuse  for  keeping  out  of  her  way,  or  his 
manner  would  rouse  her  suspicions.  He  consented 
readily  to  that,  and  indeed  left  all  to  Dr.  Philip. 

Dr.  Philip  trusted  nobody  ;  not  even  his  own  confiden- 
tial servant.  He  allowed  no  journal  to  come  into  the 
house  without  passing  through  his  hands,  and  he  read 
them  all  before  he  would  let  any  other  soul  in  the  house 
see  them.  He  asked  Posa  to  let  him  be  her  secretary 
and  open  her  letters,  giving  as  a  pretext  that  it  would 
be  as  well  she  should  have  no  small  worries  or  trouble 
just  now. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  I  was  never  so  well  able  to  bear 
them.  It  must  be  a  -great  thing  to  put  me  out  now.  I 
am  so  happy,  and  live  in  the  future.  Well,  dear  uncle, 
you  can  if  you  like  —  what  does  it  matter  ?  —  only  there 
must  be  one  exception  :  my  own  Christie's  letters,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  wincing  inwardly. 

The  very  next  day  came  a  letter  of  condolence  from 
Miss  Lucas.  Dr.  Philip  intercepted  it,  and  locked  it  up, 
to  be  shown  her  at  a  more  fitting  time. 

But  how  could  he  hope  to  keep  so  public  a  thing  as 
this  from  entering  the  house  in  one  of  a  hundred  news- 
papers ? 

He  went  into  Gravesend,  and  searched  all  the  news- 
papers, to  see  what  he  had  to  contend  with.  To  his 
horror,  he  found  it  in  several  dailies  and  weeklies,  and 
in  two  illustrated  papers.  He  sat  aghast  at  the  difficulty 
and  the  danger. 

The  best  thing  he  could  think  of  was  to  buy  them  all, 
and  cut  out  the  account.  He  did  so,  and  brought  all  the 
papers,  thus  mutilated,  into  the  house,  and  sent  them 


252  A   SIMPLETON. 

into  the  kitchen.  He  said  to  his  old  servant,  "These 
may  amuse  Mr.  Liisignan's  people,  and  I  have  extracted 
all  that  interests  me." 

By  these  means  he  hoped  that  none  of  the  servants 
would  go  and  buy  more  of  these  same  papers  else- 
where. 

Notwithstanding  these  precautions,  he  took  the  nurse 
apart,  and  said,  "  Now,  you  are  an  experienced  woman, 
and  to  be  trusted  about  an  excitable  patient.  Mind,  I 
object  to  any  female  servant  entering  Mrs.  Staines's  room 
with  gossip.  Keep  them  outside  the  door  for  the  present, 
please.  Oh,  and  nurse,  if  anything  should  happen,  likely 
to  grieve  or  to  worry  her,  it  must  be  kept  from  her 
entirely  :  can  I  trust  you  ?  " 

"  You  may,  sir." 

"I  shall  add  ten  guineas  to  your  fee,  if  she  gets 
through  the  month  without  a  shock  or  disturbance  of 
any  kind." 

She  stared  at  him,  inquiringly.     Then  she  said,  — 

"  You  may  rely  on  me,  doctor." 

"  I  feel  I  may.  Still,  she  alarms  me.  She  looks  quiet 
enough,  but  she  is  very  excitable." 

Not  all  these  precautions  gave  Dr.  Philip  any  real 
sense  of  security;  still  less  did  they  to  Mr.  Lusignan. 
He  was  not  a  tender  father,  in  small  things,  but  the  idea 
of  actual  danger  to  his  only  child  was  terrible  to  him ; 
and  he  now  passed  his  life  in  a  continual  tremble. 

This  is  the  less  to  be  wondered  at,  when  I  tell  you 
that  even  the  stout  Philip  began  to  lose  his  nerve,  his 
appetite,  his  sleep,  under  this  hourly  terror  and  this 
hourly  torture. 

Well  did  the  great  imagination  of  antiquity  feign  a 
torment,  too  great  for  the  mind  long  to  endure,  in  the 
sword  of  Damocles  suspended  by  a  single  hair  over  his 
head.     Here  the  sword  hung  over  an  innocent  creature, 


A  SIMPLETON.  253 

who  smiled  beneath  it,  fearless ;  but  these  two  old  men 
must  sit  and  watch  the  sword,  and  ask  themselves  how 
long  before  that  subtle  salvation  shall  snap. 

"  111  news  travels  fast,"  says  the  proverb.  "  The  birds 
of  the  air  shall  carry  the  matter,"  says  Holy  Writ ;  and 
it  is  so.  No  bolts  nor  bars,  no  promises  nor  precautions, 
can  long  shut  out  a  great  calamity  from  the  ears  it  is  to 
blast,  the  heart  it  is  to  wither.  The  very  air  seems  full 
of  it,  until  it  falls. 

Kosa's  child  was  more  than  a  fortnight  old ;  and  she 
was  looking  more  beautiful  than  ever,  as  is  often  the 
case  with  a  very  young  mother,  and  Dr.  Philip  compli- 
mented her  on  her  looks.  "  Now,''  said  he,  "  you  reap 
the  advantage  of  being  good,  and  obedient,  and  keeping 
quiet.  In  another  ten  days  or  so,  I  may  take  you  to  the 
seaside  for  a  week.  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you 
that  from  about  the  fourth  to  the  tenth  of  March  there 
is  always  a  week  of  fine  weather,  which  takes  everybody 
by  surprise,  except  me.  It  does  not  astonish  me,  because 
I  observe  it  is  invariable.  Now,  what  would  you  say  if 
I  gave  you  a  week  at  Heme  Bay,  to  set  you  up 
altogether  ?  " 

"  As  you  please,  dear  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  with  a 
sweet  smile.  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  go,  or  to  stay. 
I  shall  be  happy  everywhere,  with  my  darling  boy,  and 
the  thought  of  my  husband.  Why,  I  count  the  days  till 
he  shall  come  back  to  me.  No,  to  us ;  to  us,  my  pet. 
How  dare  a  naughty  mammy  say  to  'me,'  as  if  'me'  was 
half  the  'portance  of  oo,  a  precious  pets  ! " 

Dr.  Philip  was  surprised  into  a  sigh. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  said  Rosa,  very  quickly. 

"  The  matter  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  the  matter.  You  sighed;  you,  the  laugh- 
ing philosopher." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  he,  to  gain  time.     "  Perhaps  I  remem- 


254  A  SIMPLETON. 

bered  the  uncertainty  of  human  life,  and  of  all  mortal 
hopes.  The  old  will  have  their  thoughts,  my  dear. 
They  have  seen  so  much  trouble." 

"  But,  uncle  dear,  he  is  a  very  healthy  child." 

"Very." 

"  And  you  told  me  yourself  carelessness  was  the  cause 
so  many  children  die." 

"  That  is  true." 

She  gave  him  a  curious  and  rather  searching  look; 
then,  leaning  over  her  boy,  said,  "Mammy's  not  afraid. 
Beautiful  Pet  was  not  born  to  die  directly.  He  will 
never  leave  his  mam-ma.  No,  uncle,  he  never  can.  For 
my  life  is  bound  in  his  and  his  dear  father's.  It  is  a 
triple  cord :  one  go,  go  all." 

She  said  this  with  a  quiet  resolution  that  chilled 
Uncle  Philip. 

At  this  moment  the  nurse,  who  had  been  bending  so 
pertinaciously  over  some  work  that  her  eyes  were  invisi- 
ble, looked  quickly  up,  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  Mrs. 
Staines,  and  finding  she  was  employed  for  the  moment, 
made  an  agitated  signal  to  Dr.  Philip.  All  she  did  was 
to  clench  her  two  hands  and  lift  them  half  was  to  her 
face,  and  then  cast  a  frightened  look  towards  the  door ; 
but  Philip's  senses  were  so  sharpened  by  constant  alarm 
and  watching,  that  he  saw  at  once  something  serious  was 
the  matter.  But  as  he  had  asked  himself  what  he 
should  do  in  case  of  some  sudden  alarm,  he  merely  gave 
a  nod  of  intelligence  to  the  nurse,  scarcely  perceptible, 
then  rose  quietly  from  his  seat,  and  went  to  the  window. 
"Snow  coming,  I  think,"  said  he.  "For  all  that  we 
shall  have  the  March  summer  in  ten  days.  You  mark 
my  words."  He  then  went  leisurely  out  of  the  room ; 
at  the  door  he  turned,  and,  with  all  the  cunning  he  was 
master  of,  said,  "  Oh,  by  the  by,  come  to  my  room,  nurse, 
when  you  are  at  leisure." 


A  SIMPLETON.  255 

"  Yes,  doctor,"  said  the  nurse,  but  never  moved.  She 
was  too  bent  on  hiding  the  agitation  she  really  felt. 

"  Had  you  not  better  go  to  him,  nurse  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  had,  madam." 

She  rose  with  feigned  indifference,  and  left  the  room. 
She  walked  leisurely  down  the  passage,  then,  casting  a 
hasty  glance  behind  her,  for  fear  Mrs.  Staines  should  be 
watching  her,  hurried  into  the  doctor's  room.  They  met 
at  once  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Briscoe 
burst  out,  "  Sir,  it  is  known  all  over  the  house  ! " 

"  Heaven  forbid !     What  is  known  ?  " 

"  What  you  would  give  the  world  to  keep  from  her. 
Why,  sir,  the  moment  you  cavitioned  me,  of  course  I  saw 
there  was  trouble.  But  little  I  thought  —  sir,  not  a  serv- 
ant in  the  kitchen  or  the  stable  but  knows  that  her 
husband  —  poor  thing  !  poor  thing !  —  Ah !  there  goes 
the  housemaid  —  to  have  a  look  at  her." 

"  Stop  her ! " 

Mrs.  Briscoe  had  not  waited  for  this ;  she  rushed  after 
the  woman,  and  told  her  Mrs.  Staines  was  sleeping,  and 
the  room  must  not  be  entered  on  any  account. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  maid,  rather  sullenly. 

Mrs.  Briscoe  saw  her  return  to  the  kitchen,  and  came 
back  to  Dr.  Staines ;  he  was  pacing  the  room  in  torments 
of  anxiety. 

"  Doctor,"  said  she,  "  it  is  the  old  story :  '  Servants' 
friends,  the  master's  enemies.'  An  old  servant  came 
here  to  gossip  with  her  friend  the  cook  (she  never  could 
abide  her  while  they  were  together,  by  all  accounts), 
and  told  her  the  whole  story  of  his  being  drowned  at 
sea." 

Dr.  Philip  groaned,  "  Cursed  chatterbox !  "  said  he. 
"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Must  we  break  it  to  her  now  ? 
Oh,  if  I  could  only  buy  a  few  days  more !  The  heart  to 
be  crushed  while  the  body  is  weak !     It  is  too  cruel. 


256  A   SIMPLETON. 

Advise  me,  Mrs.  Briscoe.  You  are  an  experienced 
woman,  and  I  think  you  are  a  kind-hearted  woman." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Briscoe,  "  I  had  the  name  of  it, 
wlien  I  was  younger  —  before  Briscoe  failed,  and  I  took 
to  nursing ;  which  it  hardens,  sir,  by  use,  and  along  of 
the  patients  themselves ;  for  sick  folk  are  lumps  of  self- 
ishness; we  see  more  of  them  than  you  do,  sir.  But 
this  I  ivill  say,  'tisn't  selfishness  that  lies  now  in  that 
room,  waiting  for  the  blow  that  will  bring  her  to  death's 
door,  I'm  sore  afraid;  but  a  sweet,  gentle,  thoughtful 
creature,  as  ever  supped  sorrow ;  for  I  don't  know  how 
'tis,  doctor,  nor  why  'tis,  but  an  angel  like  that  has 
always  to  sup  sorrow." 

"  But  you  do  not  advise  me,"  said  the  doctor,  in  agita- 
tion, "  and  something  must  be  done." 

"  Advise  you,  sir ;  it  is  not  for  me  to  do  that.  I  am 
sure  I'm  at  my  wits'  ends,  poor  thing  !  Well,  sir,  I  don't 
see  what  you  can  do,  but  try  and  break  it  to  her.  Better 
so,  than  let  it  come  to  her  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  But 
I  think,  sir,  I'd  have  a  wet-nurse  ready,  before  I  said 
much :  for  she  is  very  quick  —  and  ten  to  one  but  the 
first  word  of  such  a  thing  turns  her  blood  to  gall.  Sir, 
I  once  knew  a  poor  woman  —  she  was  a  carpenter's  wife 
—  a-nursing  her  child  in  the  afternoon  —  and  in  runs  a 
foolish  woman,  and  tells  her  he  was  killed  dead,  off  a 
scaffold.  'Twas  the  man's  sister  told  her.  Well,  sir, 
she  was  knocked  stupid  like,  and  she  sat  staring,  and 
nursing  of  her  child,  before  she  could  take  it  in  rightly. 
The  child  was  dead  before  supper-time,  and  the  woman 
was  not  long  after.  The  whole  family  was  swept  away, 
sir,  in  a  few  hours,  and  I  mind  the  table  was  not  cleared 
he  had  dined  on,  when  they  came  to  lay  them  out.  Well- 
a-day,  nurses  see  sorrow  ! " 

"We  all  see  sorrow  that  live  long,  Mrs.  Briscoe.  I 
am   heart-broken   myself;   I  am  desperate.     You  are  a 


A  SIMPLETON.  257 

good  soul,  and  I'll  tell  you.  When  my  nephew  married 
this  poor  girl,  I  was  very  angry  with  him ;  and  I  soon 
found  she  was  not  fit  to  be  a  struggling  man's  wife  ;  and 
then  I  was  very  angry  with  her.  She  had  spoiled  a  first- 
rate  physician,  I  thought.  But,  since  I  knew  her  better, 
it  is  all  changed.  She  is  so  lovable.  How  I  shall  ever 
tell  her  this  terrible  thing,  God  knows.  All  I  know  is, 
that  I  will  not  throw  a  chance  away.  Her  body  shall  be 
stronger,  before  I  break  her  heart.  Cursed  idiots,  that 
could  not  save  a  single  man,  with  their  boats,  in  a  calm 
sea !  Lord  forgive  me  for  blaming  people,  when  I  was 
not  there  to  see.  I  say  I  will  give  her  every  chance. 
She  shall  not  know  it  till  she  is  stronger :  no,  not  if  I 
live  at  her  door,  and  sleep  there,  and  all.  Good  God ! 
inspire  me  with  something.  There  is  always  something 
to  be  done,  if  one  could  but  see  it." 

Mrs.  Briscoe  sighed  and  said,  "  Sir,  I  think  anything 
is  better  than  for  her  to  hear  it  from  a  servant  —  and 
they  are  sure  to  blurt  it  out.  Young  women  are  such 
fools." 

"  No,  no ;  I  see  what  it  is,"  said  Dr.  Philip,  "  I  have 
gone  all  wrong  from  the  first.  I  have  been  acting  like  a 
woman,  when  I  should  have  acted  like  a  man.  Why,  I 
only  trusted  yoii  by  halves.  There  was  a  fool  for  you. 
Never  trust  people  by  halves." 

"  That  is  true,  sir." 

"  Well,  then,  now  I  shall  go  at  it  like  a  man.  I  have 
a  vile  opinion  of  servants  ;  but  no  matter.  I'll  try  them : 
they  are  human,  I  suppose.  I'll  hit  them  between  the 
eyes  like  a  man.  Go  to  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Briscoe,  and 
tell  them  I  wish  to  speak  to  all  the  servants,  indoors  or 
out." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

She  stopped  at  the  door,  and  said,  "I  had  better  get 
back  to  her,  as  soon  as  I  have  told  them." 


258  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  what  shall  I  tell  her,  sir  ?  Her  first  word  will 
be  to  ask  me  what  you  wanted  me  for.  I  saw  that  in  her 
eye.  She  was  curious :  that  is  why  she  sent  me  after 
you  so  quick." 

Dr.  Philip  groaned.  He  felt  he  was  walking  among 
pitfalls.  He  rapidly  flavored  some  distilled  water  with 
orange-flower,  then  tinted  it  a  beautiful  pink,  and  bottled 
it.  '' There,"  said  he;  "I  was  mixing  a  new  medicine. 
Tablespoon,  four  times  a  day :  had  to  filter  it.  Any  lie 
you  like." 

Mrs.  Briscoe  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  gave  her 
message :  then  went  to  Mrs.  Staines  with  the  mix- 
ture. 

Dr.  Philip  went  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  spoke  to 
the  servants  very  solemnly.  He  said,  "  My  good  friends, 
I  am  come  to  ask  your  help  in  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  There  is  a  poor  young  woman  up-stairs ;  she  is  a 
widow,  and  does  not  know  it ;  and  must  not  know  it  yet. 
If  the  blow  fell  now,  I  think  it  would  kill  her :  indeed, 
if  she  hears  it  all  of  a  sudden,  at  any  time,  that  might 
destroy  her.  We  are  in  so  sore  a  strait  that  a  feather 
may  turn  the  scale.  So  we  must  try  all  we  can  to  gain 
a  little  time,  and  then  trust  to  God's  mercy  after  all. 
Well,  now,  what  do  you  say  ?  Will  you  help  me  keep  it 
from  her,  till  the  tenth  of  March,  say  ?  and  then  I  will 
break  it  to  her  by  degrees.  Forget  she  is  your  mistress. 
Master  and  servant,  that  is  all  very  well  at  a  proper 
time ;  but  this  is  the  time  to  remember  nothing  but  that 
we  are  all  one  flesh  and  blood.  We  lie  down  together 
in  the  churchyard,  and  we  hope  to  rise  together  where 
there  will  be  no  master  and  servant.  Think  of  the  poor 
unfortunate  creature  as  your  own  £esh  and  blood,  and 
tell  me,  will  you  help  me  try  and  save  her,  under  this 
terrible  blow  ?  " 


A   SIMPLETON.  259 

''  Ay,  doctor,  that  we  will,"  said  the  footman.  <'  Only 
you  give  us  our  orders,  and  you  will  see." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  give  you  orders ;  but  I  entreat  you 
not  to  show  her  by  word  or  look,  that  calamity  is  upon 
her.  Alas  !  it  is  only  a  reprieve  you  can  give  her  and  to 
me.  The  bitter  hour  must  come  when  I  must  tell  her 
she  is  a  widow,  and  her  boy  an  orphan.  When  that  day 
comes,  I  will  ask  you  all  to  pray  for  me  that  I  may  find 
words.  But  now  I  ask  you  to  give  me  that  ten  days' 
reprieve.  Let  the  poor  creature  recover  a  little  strength, 
before  the  thunderbolt  of  affliction  falls  on  her  head. 
Will  you  promise  me  ?  " 

They  promised  heartily;  and  more  than  one  of  the 
women  began  to  cry. 

"  A  general  assent  will  not  satisfy  me,"  said  Dr.  Philip. 
*'  I  want  every  man,  and  every  woman,  to  give  me  a  hand 
upon  it ;  then  I  shall  feel  sure  of  you." 

The  men  gave  him  their  hands  at  once.  The  women 
wiped  their  hands  with  their  aprons,  to  make  sure  they 
were  clean,  and  gave  him  their  hands  too.  The  cook 
said,  "  If  any  one  of  us  goes  from  it,  this  kitchen  will 
be  too  hot  to  hold  her." 

"  Nobody  will  go  from  it,  cook,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'm 
not  afraid  of  that;  and  now  since  you  have  promised 
me,  out  of  your  own  good  hearts,  I'll  try  and  be  even 
with  you.  If  she  knows  nothing  of  it  by  the  tenth  of 
March,  five  guineas  to  every  man  and  woman  in  this 
kitchen.  You  shall  see  that,  if  you  can  be  kind,  we  can 
be  grateful." 

He  then  hurried  away.  He  found  Mr.  Lusignan  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  told  him  all  this.  Lusignan  was 
fluttered,  but  grateful.  ''  Ah,  my  good  friend,"  said  he, 
"  this  is  a  hard  trial  to  two  old  men,  like  you  and  me." 

"  It  is,"  said  Philip.  "  It  has  shown  me  my  age.  I 
declare  I  am  trembling ;  I,  whose  nerves  were  iron.     But 


260  A   SIMPLETON. 

I  have  a  particular  contempt  for  servants.  Mercenary 
wretches !  I  think  Heaven  inspired  me  to  talk  to  them. 
After  all,  who  knows  '/  perhaps  we  might  find  a  way  to 
their  hearts,  if  we  did  not  eternally  shock  their  vanity, 
and  forget  that  it  is,  and  must  be,  far  greater  than  our 
own.  The  women  gave  me  their  tears,  and  the  men  were 
earnest.  Not  one  hand  lay  cold  in  mine.  As  for  your 
kitchen-maid,  I'd  trust  my  life  to  that  girl.  What  a 
grip  she  gave  me  !  What  strength !  What  fidelity  was 
in  it !  My  hand  was  never  grasped  before.  I  think  we 
are  safe  for  a  few  days  more." 

Lusignan  sighed.  "  What  does  it  all  come  to  ?  We 
are  pulling  the  trigger  gently,  that  is  all." 

*'  No,  no ;  that  is  not  it.  Don't  let  us  confound  the 
matter  with  similes,  please.     Keep  them  for  children." 

Mrs.  Staines  left  her  bed ;  and  would  have  left  her 
room,  but  Dr.  Philip  forbade  it  strictly. 

One  day,  seated  in  her  arm-chair,  she  said  to  the  nurse, 
before  Dr.  Philip,  "  Nurse,  why  do  the  servants  look  so 
curiously  at  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Briscoe  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  Dr.  Philip,  and 
then  said,  "I  don't  know,  madam.  I  never  noticed 
that." 

"Uncle,  why  did  nurse  look  at  you  before  she 
answered  such  a  simple  question  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     What  question  ?  " 

"  About  the  servants." 

"■  Oh,  about  the  servants ! "  said  he  contemptuously. 

"  You  should  not  turn  up  your  nose  at  them,  for  they 
are  all  most  kind  and  attentive.  Only,  I  catch  them 
looking  at  me  so  strangely  ;  really  —  as  if  they  — " 

"  Eosa,  you  are  taking  me  quite  out  of  my  depth.  The 
looks  of  servant  girls !  Why,  of  course  a  lady  in  your 
condition  is  an  object  of  especial  interest  to  them.  I 
dare  say  they  are  saying  to  one  another,   *I  wonder 


A  SIMPLETON.  261 

when  my  turn  will  come  ! '  A  fellow-feeling  makes  us 
wondrous  kind  —  that  is  a  proverb,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure.     I  forgot  that." 

She  said  no  more ;  but  seemed  thoughtful,  and  not 
quite  satisfied. 

On  this  Dr.  Philip  begged  the  maids  to  go  near  her  as 
little  as  possible.  "You  are  not  aware  of  it,"  said  he, 
"  but  your  looks,  and  your  manner  of  speaking,  rouse  her 
attention,  and  she  is  quicker  than  I  thought  she  was, 
and  observes  very  subtly." 

This  was  done  ;  and  then  she  complained  that  nobody 
came  near  her.  She  insisted  on  coming  down-stairs ;  it 
was  so  dull. 

Dr.  Philip  consented,  if  she  would  be  content  to 
receive  no  visits  for  a  week. 

She  assented  to  that ;  and  now  passed  some  hours  every 
day  in  the  drawing-room.  In  her  morning  wrappers,  so 
fresh  and  crisp,  she  looked  lovely,  and  increased  in 
health  and  strength  every  day. 

Dr.  Philip  used  to  look  at  her,  and  his  very  flesh 
would  creep  at  the  thought  that,  ere  long,  he  must  hurl 
this  fair  creature  into  the  dust  of  affliction ;  must,  with 
a  word,  take  the  ruby  from  her  lips,  the  rose  from  her 
cheeks,  the  sparkle  from  her  glorious  eyes  —  eyes  that 
beamed  on  him  with  sweet  affection,  and  a  mouth  that 
never  opened,  but  to  show  some  simplicity  of  mind,  or 
some  pretty  burst  of  the  sensitive  heart. 

He  put  off,  and  put  off,  and  at  last  cowardice  began  to 
whisper,  "  AVhy  tell  her  the  whole  truth  at  all  ?  Why 
not  take  her  through  stages  of  doubt,  alarm,  and,  after 
all,  leave  a  grain  of  hope  till  her  child  gets  so  rooted 
in  her  heart  that" —  But  conscience  and  good  sense 
interrupted  this  temporary  thought,  and  made  him  see 
to  what  a  horrible  life  of  suspense  he  should  condemn  a 
human  creature,  and  live  a  perpetual  lie,  and  be  always 
at  the  edge  of  some  pitfall  or  other. 


262  A   SIMPLETON. 

One  day,  while  he  sat  looking  at  her,  with  all  these 
thoughts,  and  many  more,  coursing  through  his  mind, 
she  looked  up  at  him,  and  surprised  him.  "  Ah  ! "  said 
she  gravely. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  she  cunningly. 

"  Uncle,  dear,"  said  she  presently,  "  when  do  we  go  to 
Heme  Bay  ?  " 

Now,  Dr.  Philip  had  given  that  up.  He  had  got  the 
servants  at  Kent  Villa  on  his  side,  and  he  felt  safer 
here  than  in  any  strange  place:  so  he  said,  "I  don't 
know :  that  all  depends.     There  is  plenty  of  time." 

"  No,  uncle,"  said  Kosa  gravely.  "  I  wish  to  leave  this 
house.     I  can  hardly  breathe  in  it." 

"  What !  your  native  air  ?  " 

"  Mystery  is  not  my  native  air ;  and  this  house  is  full 
of  mystery.  Voices  whisper  at  my  door,  and  the  people 
don't  come  in.  The  maids  cast  strange  looks  at  me,  and 
hurry  away.  I  scolded  that  pert  girl  Jane,  and  she 
answered  me  as  meek  as  Moses.  I  catch  you  looking  at 
me,  with  love,  and  something  else.  What  is  that  some- 
thing —  ?  It  is  Pity :  that  is  what  it  is.  Do  you 
think,  because  I  am  called  a  simpleton,  that  I  have  no 
eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  sense  ?  What  is  this  secret  which 
you  are  all  hiding  from  one  person,  and  that  is  me  ? 
Ah !  Christopher  has  not  written  these  five  weeks.  Tell 
me  the  truth,  for  I  will  know  it,"  and  she  started  up  in 
wild  excitement. 

Then  Dr.  Philip  saw  the  hour  was  come. 

He  said,  "  My  poor  girl,  you  have  read  us  right.  I  am 
anxious  about  Christopher,  and  all  the  servants  know  it." 

"  Anxious,  and  not  tell  me ;  his  wife ;  the  woman 
whose  life  is  bound  up  in  his." 

"  Was  it  for  us  to  retard  your  convalescence,  and  set 
you  fretting,  and  perhaps  destroy  your  child  ?     Eosa, 


A  SUrPLETON.  263 

my  darling,  think  what  a  treasure  Heaven  has  sent  you, 
to  love  and  care  for." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  trembling,  "  Heaven  has  been  good  to 
me  ;  I  hope  Heaven  will  always  be  as  good  to  me.  I 
don't  deserve  it;  but  then  I  tell  God  so.  I  am  very 
grateful,  and  very  penitent.  I  never  forget  that,  if  I 
had  been  a  good  wife,  my  husband  —  five  weeks  is  a  long 
time.  Why  do  you  tremble  so  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale 
—  a  strong  man  like  you  ?     Calamity  !  calamity  ! " 

Dr.  Philip  hung  his  head. 

She  looked  at  him,  started  wildly  up,  then  sank  back 
into  her  chair.  So  the  stricken  deer  leaps,  then  falls. 
Yet  even  now  she  put  on  a  deceitful  calm,  and  said, 
"  Tell  me  the  truth.     I  have  a  right  to  know." 

He  stammered  out,  "  There  is  a  report  of  an  accident 
at  sea." 

She  kept  silence. 

"  Of  a  passenger  drowned  —  out  of  that  ship.  This, 
coupled  with  his  silence,  fills  our  hearts  with  fear." 

"It  is  worse  — you  are  breaking  it  to  me  —  you  have 
gone  too  far  to  stop.  One  word :  is  he  alive  ?  Oh,  say 
he  is  alive  !  " 

Philip  rang  the  bell  hard,  and  said  in  a  troubled  voice, 
"Rosa,  think  of  your  child." 

"  Not  when  my  husband  —    Is  he  alive  or  dead  ?  " 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,  with  such  a  terrible  report  about, 
and  no  letters,"  faltered  the  old  man,  his  courage  failing 
him. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  Do  you  think  I  can't  die, 
and  go  to  him  ?  Alive,  or  dead  ?  "  and  she  stood  before 
him,  raging  and  quivering  in  every  limb. 

The  nurse  came  in. 

"  Fetch  her  child,"  he  cried ;  "God  have  mercy  on  her." 

"Ah,  then  he  is  dead,"  said  she,  with  stony  calmness. 
"  I  drove  him  to  sea,  and  he  is  dead." 


264  A   SIMPLETON. 

The  nurse  rushed  in,  and  held  the  child  to  her. 

She  would  not  look  at  it. 

«  Dead ! " 

"  Yes,  our  poor  Christie  is  gone  —  but  his  child  is 
here — the  image  of  him.  Do  not  forget  the  mother. 
Have  pity  on  his  child  and  yours." 

"  Take  it  out  of  my  sight ! "  she  screamed.  ''  Away 
with  it,  or  I  shall  murder  it,  as  I  have  murdered  its 
father.  My  dear  Christie,  before  all  that  live  !  I  have 
killed  him.  I  shall  die  for  him.  I  shall  go  to  him." 
She  raved  and  tore  her  hair.  Servants  rushed  in.  Rosa 
was  carried  to  her  bed,  screaming  and  raving,  and  her 
black  hair  all  down  on  both  sides,  a  piteous  sight. 

Swoon  followed  swoon,  and  that  very  night  brain  fever 
set  in  with  all  its  sad  accompaniments  ;  a  poor  bereaved 
creature,  tossing  and  moaning ;  pale,  anxious,  but  reso- 
lute faces  of  the  nurse  and  the  kitchen-maid  watching : 
on  one  table  a  pail  of  ice,  and  on  another  the  long,  thick 
raven  hair  of  our  poor  Simpleton,  lying  on  clean  silver 
paper.  Dr.  Philip  had  cut  it  all  off  with  his  own  hand, 
and  he  was  now  folding  it  up,  and  crying  over  it ;  for  he 
thought  to  himself,  "  Perhaps  in  a  few  days  more  only 
this  will  be  left  of  her  on  earth." 


A  SIMPLETON.  265 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Staines  lell  head-foremost  into  the  sea  with  a  heavy- 
plunge.  Being  an  excellent  swimmer,  he  struck  out  the 
moment  he  touched  ths  water,  and  that  arrested  his  dive, 
and  brought  him  up  with  a  slant,  shocked  and  panting, 
drenched  and  confused.  The  next  moment  he  saw,  as 
through  a  fog  —  his  eyes  being  full  of  water  —  something 
fall  from  the  ship.  He  breasted  the  big  waves,  and  swam 
towards  it :  it  rose  on  the  top  of  a  wave,  and  he  saw 
it  was  a  life-buoy.  Encumbered  with  wet  clothes,  he 
seemed  impotent  in  the  big  waves  ;  they  threw  him  up 
so.  high,  and  down  so  low. 

Almost  exhausted,  he  got  to  the  life-buoy,  and  clutched 
it  with  a  fierce  grasp  and  a  wild  cry  of  delight.  He  got 
it  over  his  head,  and,  placing  his  arms  round  the  buoyant 
circle,  stood  with  his  breast  and  head  out  of  water, 
gasping. 

He  now  drew  a  long  breath,  and  got  his  wet  hair  out 
of  his  eyes,  already  smarting  with  salt  water,  and,  rais- 
ing himself  on  the  buoy,  looked  out  for  help. 

He  saw,  to  his  great  concern,  the  ship  already  at  a 
distance.  She  seemed  to  have  flown,  and  she  was  still 
drifting  fast  away  from  him. 

He  saw  no  signs  of  help.  His  heart  began  to  turn  as 
cold  as  his  drenched  body.     A  horrible  fear  crossed  him. 

But  presently  he  saw  the  weather-boat  filled,  and  fall 
into  the  water ;  and  then  a  wave  rolled  between  him  and 
the  ship,  and  he  only  saw  her  topmast. 

The  next  time  he  rose  on  a  mighty  wave  he  saw  the 
boats  together  astern  of  the  vessel,  but  not  coming  his 


266  A  SIMPLETON. 

way ;  and  the  gloom  was  thickening,  the  ship  becoming 
indistinct,  and  all  was  doubt  and  horror. 

A  life  of  agony  passed  in  a  few  minutes. 

He  rose  and  fell  like  a  cork  on  the  buoyant  waves  — 
rose  and  fell,  and  saw  nothing  but  the  ship's  lights,  now 
terribly  distant. 

But  at  last,  as  he  rose  and  fell,  he  caught  a  few  fitful 
glimpses  of  a  smaller  light  rising  and  falling  like  him- 
self. "  A  boat !  "  he  cried,  and  raising  himself  as  high 
as  he  could,  shouted,  cried,  implored  for  help.  He 
stretched  his  hands  across  the  water.  "  This  way  !  this 
way ! " 

The  light  kept  moving,  but  it  came  no  nearer.  They 
had  greatly  underrated  the  drift.  The  other  boat  had  no 
light. 

Minutes  passed  of  suspense,  hope,  doubt,  dismay, 
terror.     Those  minutes  seemed  hours. 

In  the  agony  of  suspense  the  quaking  heart  sent  beads 
of  sweat  to  the  brow,  though  the  body  was  immersed. 

And  the  gloom  deepened,  and  the  cold  waves  flung 
him  up  to  heaven  with  their  giant  arms,  and  then  down 
again  to  hell :  and  still  that  light,  his  only  hope,  was 
several  hundred  yards  from  him. 

Only  for  a  moment  at  a  time  could  his  eyeballs,  strain- 
ing with  agony,  catch  this  will-o'-the-wisp,  the  boat's 
light.  It  groped  the  sea  up  and  down,  but  came  no 
near. 

When  what  seemed  days  of  agony  had  passed,  sud- 
denly a  rocket  rose  in  the  horizon — so  it  seemed  to  him. 

The  lost  man  gave  a  shriek  of  joy ;  so  prone  are  we 
to  interpret  things  hopefully. 

Misery  !  The  next  time  he  saw  that  little  light,  that 
solitary  spark  of  hope,  it  was  not  quite  so  near  as  before. 
A  mortal  sickness  fell  on  his  heart.  The  ship  had 
recalled  the  boats  by  rocket. 


A   SIMPLETON.  267 

He  shrieked,  he  cried,  he  screamed,  he  raved.  "Oh, 
Rosa !  Rosa  !  for  her  sake,  men,  men,  do  not  leave  me. 
I  am  here  !  here  ! " 

In  vain.  The  miserable  man  saw  the  boat's  little 
light  retire,  recede,  and  melt  into  the  ship's  larger  light, 
and  that  light  glided  away. 

Then,  a  cold,  deadly  stupor  fell  on  him.  Then,  death's 
icy  claw  seized  his  heart,  and  seemed  to  run  from  it  to 
every  part  of  him.  He  was  a  dead  man.  Only  a  ques- 
tion of  time.     jSTothing  to  gain  by  floating. 

But  the  despairing  mind  could  not  quit  the  world  in 
peace,  and  even  here  in  the  cold,  cruel  sea,  the  quivering 
body  clung  to  this  fragment  of  life,  and  winced  at  death's 
touch,  though  more  merciful. 

He  despised  this  weakness ;  he  raged  at  it ;  he  could 
not  overcome  it. 

Unable  to  live  or  to  die,  condemned  to  float  slowly, 
hour  by  hour,  down  into  death's  jaws. 

To  a  long,  death-like  stupor  succeeded  frenzy.  Fury 
seized  this  great  and  long-suffering  mind.  It  rose 
against  the  cruelty  and  injustice  of  his  fate.  He  cursed 
the  world,  whose  stupidity  had  driven  him  to  sea;  he 
cursed  remorseless  nature ;  and  at  last  he  railed  on  the 
God  who  made  him,  and  made  the  cruel  water,  that  was 
waiting  for  his  body.  "  God's  justice  !  God's  mercy ! 
God's  power !  they  are  all  lies,"  he  shouted,  "  dreams, 
chimeras,  like  Him  the  all-powerful  and  good,  men  babble 
of  by  the  fire.  If  there  was  a  God  more  powerful  than 
the  sea,  and  only  half  as  good  as  men  are,  he  would  pity 
my  poor  Rosa  and  me,  and  send  a  hurricane  to  drive 
those  caitiffs  back  to  the  wretch  they  have  abandoned. 
Nature  alone  is  mighty.  Oh,  if  I  could  have  her  on  my 
side,  and  only  God  against  me !  But  she  is  as  deaf  to 
prayer  as  He  is  :  as  mechanical  and  remorseless.  I  am 
a  bubble  melting  into  the  sea.     Soul  I  have  none  j  my 


268  A  SIMPLETON. 

body  will  soon  be  nothing,  nothing.  So  ends  an  honest, 
loving  life.  I  always  tried  to  love  my  fellow-creatures. 
Curse  them  !  curse  them  !  Curse  the  earth !  Curse  the 
sea  !  Curse  all  nature :  there  is  no  other  God  for  me  to 
curse." 

The  moon  came  out. 

He  raised  his  head  and  staring  eyeballs,  and  cursed 
her. 

The  wind  began  to  whistle,  and  flung  spray  in  his  face. 

He  raised  his  fallen  head  and  staring  eyeballs,  and 
cursed  the  wind. 

While  he  was  thus  raving,  he  became  sensible  of  a 
black  object  to  windward. 

It  looked  like  a  rail,  and  a  man  leaning  on  it. 

He  stared,  he  cleared  the  wet  hair  from  his  eyes,  and 
stared  again. 

The  thing,  being  larger  than  himself  and  partly  out 
of  water,  was  drifting  to  leeward  faster  than  himself. 

He  stared  and  trembled,  and  at  last  it  came  nearly 
abreast,  black,  black. 

He  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  tried  to  swim  towards  it ;  but 
encumbered  with  his  life-buoy,  he  made  little  progress. 
The  thing  drifted  abreast  of  him,  but  ten  yards  distant. 

As  they  each  rose  high  ujDon  the  waves,  he  saw  it 
plainly. 

It  was  the  very  raft  that  had  been  the  innocent  cause 
of  his  sad  fate. 

He  shouted  with  hope,  he  swam,  he  struggled  ;  he  got 
near  it,  but  not  to  it ;  it  drifted  past,  and  he  lost  his 
chance  of  intercepting  it.  He  struggled  after  it.  The 
life-buoy  would  not  let  him  catch  it. 

Then  he  gave  a  cry  of  agony,  rage,  despair,  and  flung 
off  the  life-buoy,  and  risked  all  on  this  one  chance. 

He  gains  a  little  on  the  raft. 

He  loses. 


A   SIMPLETON.  269 

He  gains :  lie  cries,  "  Rosa !  Rosa ! "  and  struggles 
with  all  his  soul,  as  well  as  his  body :  he  gains. 

But  when  almost  within  reach,  a  wave  half  drowns 
him,  and  he  loses. 

He  cries,  "  Rosa !  Rosa !  "  and  swims  high  and  strong. 
''Rosa!  Rosa!  Rosa!" 

He  is  near  it.  He  cries,  ''  Rosa !  Rosa  !  "  and  with  all 
the  energy  of  love  and  life  flings  himself  almost  out  of 
the  water,  and  catches  hold  of  the  nearest  thing  on  the 
raft. 

It  was  the  dead  man's  leg. 

It  seemed  as  if  it  would  come  away  in  his  grasp.  He 
dared  not  try  to  pull  himself  up  by  that.  But  he  held 
on  by  it,  panting,  exhausting,  faint. 

This  faintness  terrified  him.  "Oh,"  thought  he,  "if 
I  faint  now,  all  is  over." 

Holding  by  that  terrible  and  strange  support,  he  made 
a  grasp,  and  caught  hold  of  the  woodwork  at  the  bottom 
of  the  rail.     He  tried  to  draw  himself  up.     Impossible. 

He  was  no  better  off  than  with  his  life-buoy. 

But  in  situations  so  dreadful,  men  think  fast ;  he 
worked  gradually  round  the  bottom  of  the  raft  by  his 
hands,  till  he  got  to  leeward,  still  holding  on.  There  he 
found  a  solid  block  of  wood  at  the  edge  of  the  raft.  He 
prised  himself  carefully  up ;  the  raft  in  that  part  then 
sank  a  little  :  he  got  his  knee  upon  the  timber  of  the 
raft,  and  with  a  wild  cry  seized  the  nearest  upright,  and 
threw  both  arms  round  it  and  clung  tight.  Then  first 
he  found  breath  to  speak.  "  Thank  God  !  "  he  cried, 
kneeling  on  the  timber,  and  grasping  the  upright  post  — 
"  Oh,  thank  God  !  thank  God  ! " 


270  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Thank  God ! "  why,  according  to  his  theory,  it 
should  have  been  "  Thank  Nature."  But  I  observe  that, 
in  sucli  cases,  even  philosophers  are  ungrateful  to  the 
mistress  they  worship. 

Our  philosopher  not  only  thanked  God,  but  being  on 
his  knees,  prayed  forgiveness  for  his  late  ravings,  prayed 
hard,  with  one  arm  curled  round  the  upright,  lest  the 
sea,  which  ever  and  anon  rushed  over  the  bottom  of  the 
raft,  should  swallow  him  up  in  a  moment. 

Then  he  rose  carefully,  and  wedged  himself  into  the 
corner  of  the  raft  opposite  to  that  other  figure,  ominous 
relic  of  the  wild  voyage  the  new-comer  had  entered 
upon ;  he  put  both  arms  over  the  rail,  and  stood  erect. 

The  moon  was  now  up ;  but  so  was  the  breeze :  fleecy 
clouds  flew  with  vast  rapidity  across  her  bright  face,  and 
it  was  by  fitful  though  vivid  glances  Staines  examined 
the  raft  and  his  companion. 

The  raft  was  large,  and  well  made  of  timbers  tied  and 
nailed  together,  and  a  strong  rail  ran  round  it  resting  on 
several  uprights.  There  were  also  some  blocks  of  a  very 
light  wood  screwed  to  the  horizontal  timbers,  and  these 
made  it  float  high. 

But  what  arrested  and  fascinated  the  man's  gaze  was 
his  dead  companion,  sole  survivor,  doubtless,  of  a  horri- 
ble voyage,  since  the  raft  was  not  made  for  one,  nor  by 
one. 

It  was  a  skeleton,  or  nearly,  whose  clothes  the  sea- 
birds  had  torn,  and  pecked  every  limb  in  all  the  fleshy 
parts  J  the  rest  of  the  body  had  dried  to  dark  leather  on 


A  SIMPLETON.  271 

^-he  bones.  The  head  was  little  more  than  an  eyeless 
skull ;  but  in  the  fitful  moonlight,  those  huge  hollow 
caverns  seemed  gigantic  lamp-like  eyes,  and  glared  at 
him  fiendishly,  appallingly. 

He  sickened  at  the  sight.  He  tried  not  to  look  at  it ; 
but  it  would  be  looked  at,  and  threaten  him  in  the  moon- 
light, with  great  lack-lustre  eyes. 

The  wind  whistled,  and  lashed  his  face  with  spray 
torn  off  the  big  waves,  and  the  water  was  nearly  up  to 
his  knees,  and  the  raft  tossed  so  wildly,  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  hold  on  in  his  corner:  in  which  struggle, 
still  those  monstrous  lack-lustre  eyes,  like  lamps  of 
death,  glared  at  him  in  the  moon;  all  else  was  dark, 
except  the  fiery  crests  of  the  black  mountain-billows, 
tumbling  and  raging  all  around. 

What  a  night ! 

But,  before  morning,  the  breeze  sank,  the  moon  set, 
and  a  sombre  quiet  succeeded,  with  only  that  grim  figure 
in  outline  dimly  visible.  Owing  to  the  motion  still 
retained  by  the  waves,  it  seemed  to  nod  and  rear,  and  be 
ever  preparing  to  rush  upon  him. 

The  sun  rose  glorious,  on  a  lovely  scene ;  the  sky  was 
a  very  mosaic  of  colors  sweet  and  vivid,  and  the  tranquil, 
rippling  sea,  peach-colored  to  the  horizon,  with  lines  of 
diamonds  where  the  myriad  ripples  broke  into  smiles. 

Staines  was  asleep,  exhausted.  Soon  the  light  awoke 
him,  and  he  looked  up.  What  an  incongruous  picture 
met  his  eye :  that  heaven  of  color  all  above  and  around, 
and  right  before  him,  like  a  devil  stuck  in  mid-heaven, 
that  grinning  corpse,  whose  fate  foreshadowed  his  own. 

But  daylight  is  a  great  strengthener  of  the  nerves  ; 
the  figure  no  longer  appalled  him  —  a  man  who  had  long 
learned  to  look  with  Science's  calm  eye  upon  the  dead. 
When  the  sea  became  like  glass,  and  from  peach-color 
deepened  to  rose,  he  walked  along  the  raft,  and  inspected 


272  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  dead  man.  He  found  it  was  a  man  of  color,  but  not 
a  black.  The  body  was  not  kept  in  its  place,  as  he  had 
supposed,  merely  by  being  jammed  into  the  angle  caused 
by  the  rail ;  it  was  also  lashed  to  the  corner  upright  by 
a  long,  stout  belt.  Staines  concluded  this  had  kept  the 
body  there,  and  its  companions  had  been  swept  away. 

This  was  not  lost  on  him  :  he  removed  the  belt  for  his 
own  use  :  he  then  found  it  was  not  only  a  belt,  but  a 
receptacle  ;  it  was  nearly  full  of  small,  hard  substances 
that  felt  like  stones. 

When  he  had  taken  it  off  the  body,  he  felt  a  compunc- 
tion. "  Ought  he  to  rob  the  dead,  and  expose  it  to  be 
swept  into  the  sea  at  the  first  wave,  like  a  dead  dog  ?  " 

He  was  about  to  replace  the  belt,  Avhen  a  middle  course 
occurred  to  him.  He  was  a  man  who  always  carried 
certain  useful  little  things  about  him,  viz.,  needles, 
thread,  scissors,  and  string.  He  took  a  piece  of  string, 
and  easily  secured  this  poor  light  skeleton  to  the  raft. 
The  belt  he  strapped  to  the  rail,  and  kept  for  his  own 
need. 

And  now  hunger  gnawed  him.  No  food  was  near. 
There  was  nothing  but  the  lovely  sea  and  sky,  mosaic 
with  color,  and  that  grim,  ominous  skeleton. 

Hunger  comes  and  goes  many  times  before  it  becomes 
insupportable.  All  that  day  and  night,  and  the  next 
day,  he  suffered  its  pangs ;  and  then  it  became  torture, 
but  the  thirst  anaddening. 

Towards  night  fell  a  gentle  rain.  He  spread  a  hand- 
kerchief and  caught  it.     He  sucked  the  handkerchief. 

This  revived  him,  and  even  allayed  in  some  degree  the 
pangs  of  hunger. 

Next  day  was  cloudless.  A  hot  sun  glared  on  his 
unprotected  head,  and  battered  down  his  enfeebled  frame. 

He  resisted  as  well  as  he  could.  He  often  dipped  his 
head,  and  as  often  the  persistent  sun,  with  cruel  glare, 
made  it  smoke  again. 


A  SEVIPLETON.  273 

Next  day  the  same :  but  the  strength  to  meet  it  was 
waning.  He  lay  down  and  thought  of  Eosa,  and  wept 
bitterly.  He  took  the  dead  man's  belt,  and  lashed  him- 
self to  the  upright.  That  act,  and  his  tears  for  his 
beloved,  were  almost  his  last  acts  of  perfect  reason :  for 
next  day  came  the  delusions  and  the  dreams  that  succeed 
when  hunger  ceases  to  torture,  and  the  vital  powers 
begin  to  ebb.  He  lay  and  saw  pleasant  meadows  witli 
meandering  streams,  and  clusters  of  rich  fruit  that 
courted  the  hand  and  melted  in  the  mouth. 

Ever  and  anon  they  vanished,  and  he  saw  grim  death 
looking  down  on  him  with  those  big  cavernous  eyes. 

By  and  by,  whether  his  body's  eye  saw  the  grim  skel- 
eton, or  his  mind's  eye  the  juicy  fruits,  green  meadows, 
and  pearly  brooks,  all  was  shadowy. 

So,  in  a  placid  calm,  beneath  a  blue  sky,  the  raft 
drifted  dead,  with  its  dead  freight,  upon  the  glassy  pur- 
ple, and  he  drifted,  too,  towards  the  world  unknown. 

There  came  across  the  wate,rs  to  that  dismal  raft  a 
tiling  none  too  common,  by  sea  or  land  —  a  good  man. 

He  was  tall,  stalwart,  bronzed,  and  had  hair  like  snow, 
before  his  time,  for  he  had  known  trouble.  He  com- 
manded a  merchant  steamer,  bound  for  Calcutta,  on  the 
old  route. 

The  man  at  the  mast-head  descried  a  floating  wreck, 
and  hailed  the  deck  accordingly.  The  captain  altered 
his  course  without  one  moment's  hesitation,  and  brought 
up  alongside,  lowered  a  boat,  and  brought  the  dead,  and 
the  breathing  man,  on  board. 

A  young  middy  lifted  Staines  in  his  arms  from  the 
wreck  to  the  boat ;  he  whose  person  I  described  in  chap- 
ter one  weighed  now  no  more  than  that. 

Men  are  not  always  rougher  tlian  women.  Their 
strength  and  nerve  enable  them  now  and  then  to  be 
gentler  than  buttery-lingered  angels,  who  drop  frail 
18 


274  A  SIMPLETON. 

things  through  sensitive  agitation,  and  break  them. 
These  rough  men  saw  Staines  was  hovering  between 
life  and  death,  and  they  handled  him  like  a  thing  the 
ebbing  life  might  be  shaken  out  of  in  a  moment.  It 
was  pretty  to  see  how  gingerly  the  sailors  carried  the 
sinking  man  up  the  ladder,  and  one  fetched  swabs,  and 
the  others  laid  him  down  softly  on  them  at  their  captain's 
feet. 

"  Well  done,  men,"  said  he.  "  Poor  fellow !  Pray 
Heaven,  we  may  not  have  come  too  late.  Now  stand 
aloof  a  bit.     Send  the  surgeon  aft." 

The  surgeon  came,  and  looked,  and  felt  the  heart.  He 
shook  his  head,  and  called  for  brandy.  He  had  Staines's 
head  raised,  and  got  half  a  spoonful  of  diluted  brandy 
down  his  throat.     But  there  was  an  ominous  gurgling. 

After  several  such  attempts  at  intervals,  he  said  plainly 
the  man's  life  could  not  be  saved  by  ordinary  means. 

"Then  try  extraordinary,"  said  the  captain.  "My 
orders  are  that  he  is  to  be  saved.  There  is  life  in  him. 
You  have  only  got  to  keep  it  there.  He  must  be  saved ; 
he  shall  be  saved." 

"  I  should  like  to  try  Dr.  Staines's  remedy,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

«  Try  it,  then .  what  is  it  ?  " 

"A  bath  of  beef-tea.  Dr.  Staines  says  he  applied  it 
to  a  starved  child  —  in  the  Lancet.''^ 

"Take  a  hundred-weight  of  beef,  and  boil  it  in  the 
coppers." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  surgeon  went  to  the  cook,  and 
very  soon  beef  was  steaming  on  a  scale  and  at  a  rate 
unparalleled. 

Meantime,  Captain  Dodd  had  the  patient  taken  to  his 
own  cabin,  and  he  and  his  servant  administered  weak 
brandy  and  water  with  great  caution  and  skill. 

There  was  no  perceptible  result.     But  at  all  events 


A  SIJVrPLETON.  276 

there  was  life  and  vital  instinct  left,  or  he  could  not 
have  swallowed. 

Thus  they  hovered  about  him  for  some  hours,  and  then 
the  bath  was  ready. 

The  captain  took  charge  of  the  patient's  clothes :  the 
surgeon  and  a  sailor  bathed  him  in  lukewarm  beef-tea, 
and  then  covered  him  very  warm  with  blankets  next  the 
skin.  Guess  how  near  a  thing  it  seemed  to  them,  when 
I  tell  you  they  dared  not  rub  him. 

Just  before  sunset  his  pulse  became  perceptible.  The 
surgeon  administered  half  a  spoonful  of  egg-flip.  The 
patient  swallowed  it. 

By  and  by  he  sighed. 

"  He  must  not  be  left,  day  or  night,"  said  the  captain. 
"  I  don't  know  who  or  what  he  is,  but  he  is  a  man ;  and 
I  could  not  bear  him  to  die  now." 

That  night  Captain  Dodd  overhauled  the  patient's 
clothes,  and  looked  for  marks  on  his  linen.  There  were 
none. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Captain  Dodd.    "  He  is  a  bachelor." 

Captain  Dodd  found  his  pocket-book,  with  bank-notes, 
two  hundred  pounds.  He  took  the  numbers,  made  a 
memorandum  of  them,  and  locked  the  notes  up. 

He  lighted  his  lamp,  examined  the  belt,  unripped  it, 
and  poured  out  the  contents  on  his  table. 

They  were  dazzling.  A  great  many  large  pieces  of 
amethyst,  and  some  of  white  topaz  and  rock  crystal ;  a 
large  number  of  smaller  stones,  carbuncles,  chrysolites, 
and  not  a  few  emeralds.  Dodd  looked  at  them  with 
pleasure,  sparkling  in  the  lamplight. 

"  Wliat  a  lot ! "  said  he.  "  I  wonder  what  they  are 
worth !  "  He  sent  for  the  first  mate,  who,  he  knew,  did 
a  little  private  business  in  precious  stones.  "Master- 
ton,"  said  he,  "  oblige  me  by  counting  these  stones  with 
me,  and  valuing  them." 


276  A   SIMPLETON. 

Mr.  Masterton  stared,  and  liis  mouth  watered.  How- 
ever, he  named  the  various  stones  and  valued  them.  He 
said  there  was  one  stone,  a  large  emerald,  without  a 
flaw,  that  was  worth  a  heavy  sum  by  itself;  and  the 
pearls,  very  fine :  and  looking  at  the  great  number,  they 
must  be  worth  a  thousand  pounds. 

Captain  Dodd  then  entered  the  whole  business  care- 
fully in  the  ship's  log:  the  living  man  he  described 
thus:  "About  five  feet  six  in  height,  and  about  fifty 
years  of  age."  Then  he  described  the  notes  and  the 
stones  very  exactly,  and  made  Masterton,  the  valuer, 
sign  the  log. 

Staines  took  a  good  deal  of  egg-flip  that  night,  and 
next  day  ate  solid  food;  but  they  questioned  him  in 
vain;  his  reason  was  entirely  in  abeyance:  he  had  be- 
come an  eater,  and  nothing  else.  Whenever  they  gave 
him  food,  he  showed  a  sort  of  fawning  animal  gratitude. 
Other  sentiment  he  had  none,  nor  did  words  enter  his 
mind  any  more  than  a  bird's.  And  since  it  is  not  pleas- 
ant to  dwell  on  the  wreck  of  a  fine  understanding,  I  will 
only  say  that  they  landed  him  at  Cape  Town,  out  of 
bodily  danger,  but  weak,  and  his  mind,  to  all  appearance, 
a  hopeless  blank. 

They  buried  the  skeleton,  —  read  the  service  of  the 
English  Church  over  a  Malabar  heathen. 

Dodd  took  Staines  to  the  hospital,  and  left  twenty 
pounds  with  the  governor  of  it  to  cure  him.  But  he 
deposited  Staines's  money  and  jewels  with  a  friendly 
banker,  and  begged  that  the  principal  cashier  might  see 
the  man,  and  be  able  to  recognize  him,  should  he  apply 
for  his  own. 

The  cashier  came  and  examined  him,  and  also  the 
ruby  ring  on  his  finger  —  a  parting  gift  from  Eosa  — 
and  remarked  this  was  a  new  way  of  doing  business. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  only  one,  sir/'  said  Dodd.     "  How  can 


A   SIMPLETON.  277 

we  give  you  his  signature  ?  He  is  not  in  his  right 
mind." 

"  Nor  never  will  be." 

"  Don't  say  that,  sir.  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,  poor 
fellow." 

Having  made  these  provisions,  the  worthy  captain 
weighed  anchor,  with  a  warm  heart  and  a  good  con- 
science. Yet  the  image  of  the  man  he  had  saved  pur- 
sued him,  and  he  resolved  to  look  after  him  next  time 
he  should  coal  at  Cape  Town,  homeward  bound. 

Staines  recovered  his  strength  in  about  two  months ; 
but  his  mind  returned  in  fragments,  and  very  slowly. 
For  a  long,  long  time  he  remembered  nothing  that  had 
preceded  his  great  calamity.  His  mind  started  afresh, 
aided  only  by  certain  fixed  habits ;  for  instance,  he  could 
read  and  write :  but,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  he  had 
no  idea  who  he  was;  and  when  his  memory  cleared  a 
little  on  that  head,  he  thought  his  surname  was  Christie, 
but  he  was  not  sure. 

Nevertheless,  the  presiding  physician  discovered  in 
him  a  certain  progress  of  intelligence,  which  gave  him 
great  hopes.  In  the  fifth  month,  having  shown  a  marked 
interest  in  the  other  sick  patients,  coupled  with  a  dispo- 
sition to  be  careful  and  attentive,  they  made  him  a 
nurse,  or  rather  a  sub-nurse  under  the  special  orders  of 
a  responsible  nurse.  I  really  believe  it  was  done  at  first 
to  avoid  the  alternative  of  sending  him  adrift,  or  trans- 
ferring him  to  the  insane  ward  of  the  hospital.  In  this 
congenial  pursuit  he  showed  such  watchfulness  and  skill, 
that  by  and  by  they  found  they  had  got  a  treasure.  Two 
months  after  that  he  began  to  talk  about  medicine,  and 
astonished  them  still  more.  He  became  the  puzzle  of 
the  establishment.  The  doctor  and  surgeon  would  con- 
verse with  him,  and  try  and  lead  him  to  his  past  life ; 
but  when  it  came  to  that,  he  used  to  put  his  hands  to 


278  A  SIMPLETON. 

his  head  with  a  face  of  great  distress,  and  it  was  clear 
some  impassable  barrier  lay  between  his  growing  intelli- 
gence and  the  past  events  of  his  life.  Indeed,  on  one 
occasion,  he  said  to  his  kind  friend  the  doctor,  "The 
past !  —  a  black  wall !  a  black  wall ! " 

Ten  months  after  his  admission  he  was  promoted  to 
be  an  attendant,  with  a  salary. 

He  put  by  every  shilling  of  it ;  for  he  said,  "  A  voice 
from  the  dark  past  tells  me  money  is  everything  in  this 
world." 

A  discussion  was  held  by  the  authorities  as  to  whether 
he  should  be  informed  he  had  money  and  jewels  at  the 
bank  or  not. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  was  thought  advisable  to  postpone 
this  information,  lest  he  should  throw  it  away ;  but  they 
told  him  he  had  been  picked  up  at  sea,  and  both  money 
and  jewels  found  on  him ;  they  were  in  safe  hands,  only 
the  person  was  away  for  the  time.  Still,  he  was  not  to 
look  upon  himself  as  either  friendless  or  moneyless. 

At  this  communication  he  showed  an  almost  childish 
delight,  that  confirmed  the  doctor  in  his  opinion  he  was 
acting  prudently,  and  for  the  real  benefit  of  an  amiable 
and  afflicted  person,  not  yet  to  be  trusted  with  mone^' 
and  jewels. 


A  SIMPLETON.  2Td 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

In  Ills  quality  of  attendant  on  the  sick,  Staines  some- 
times conducted  a  weak  but  convalescent  patient  into  the 
open  air ;  and  he  was  always  pleased  to  do  this,  for  the 
air  of  the  Cape  carries  health  and  vigor  on  its  wings. 
He  had  seen  its  fine  recreative  properties,  and  he  divined, 
somehow,  that  the  minds  of  convalescents  ought  to  be 
amused,  and  so  he  often  begged  the  doctor  to  let  him 
take  a  convalescent  abroad.  Sooner  than  not,  he  would 
draw  the  patient  several  miles  in  a  Bath  chair.  He 
rather  liked  this;  for  he  was  a  Hercules,  and  had  no 
egotism  or  false  pride  where  the  sick  were  concerned. 

Now,  these  open-air  walks  exerted  a  beneficial  influence 
on  his  own  darkened  mind.  It  is  one  thing  to  struggle 
from  idea  to  idea;  it  is  another  when  material  objects 
mingle  with  the  retrospect ;  they  seem  to  supply  stepping- 
stones  in  the  gradual  resuscitation  of  memory  and  reason. 

The  ships  going  out  of  port  were  such  a  stepping- 
stone  to  him,  and  a  vague  consciousness  came  back  to 
him  of  having  been  in  a  ship. 

Unfortunately,  along  with  this  reminiscence  came  a 
desire  to  go  in  one  again ;  and  this  sowed  discontent  in 
his  mind,  and  the  more  that  mind  enlarged,  the  more  he 
began  to  dislike  the  hospital  and  its  confinement.  The 
feeling  grew,  and  bade  fair  to  disqualify  him  for  his 
humble  office.  The  authorities  could  not  fail  to  hear  of 
this,  and  they  had  a  little  discussion  about  parting  with 
him ;  but  they  hesitated  to  turn  him  adrift,  and  they 
still  doubted  the  propriety  of  trusting  him  with  money 
and  jewels. 


280  A  SIMPLETON. 

While  matters  were  in  this  state  a  remarkable  event 
occurred.  He  drew  a  sick  patient  down  to  the  quay  one 
morning,  and  watched  the  business  of  the  port  witli  the 
keenest  interest.  A  ship  at  anchor  was  unloading,  and 
a  great  heavy  boat  was  sticking  to  her  side  like  a  black 
leech.  Presently  this  boat  came  away,  and  moved  slug- 
gishly towards  the  shore,  rather  by  help  of  the  tide  than 
of  the  two  men  who  went  through  the  form  of  propelling 
her  with  two  monstrous  sweeps,  while  a  third  steered  her. 
She  contained  English  goods :  agricultural  implements, 
some  cases,  four  horses,  and  a  buxom  young  woman  with 
a  thorough  English  face.  The  woman  seemed  a  little 
excited,  and  as  she  neared  the  landing-place,  she  called 
out  in  jocund  tones  to  a  young  man  on  the  shore,  "  It  is 
all  right,  Dick ;  they  are  beauties,"  and  she  patted  the 
beasts  as  people  do  who  are  fond  of  them. 

She  stepped  lightly  ashore,  and  then  came  the  slower 
work  of  landing  her  imports.  She  bustled  about,  like  a 
hen  over  her  brood,  and  wasn't  always  talking,  but  put 
in  her  word  every  now  and  then,  never  crossly,  and  always 
to  the  point, 

Staines  listened  to  her,  and  examined  her  with  a  sort 
of  puzzled  look ;  but  she  took  no  notice  of  him ;  her 
whole  soul  was  in  the  cattle. 

They  got  the  things  on  board  well  enough;  but  the 
horses  were  frightened  at  the  gangway,  and  jibbed.  Then 
a  man  was  for  driving  them,  and  poked  one  of  them  in 
the  quarter ;  he  snorted  and  reared  directly. 

"  Man  alive ! "  cried  the  young  woman,  "  that  is  not  the 
way.  They  are  docile  enough,  but  frightened.  Encourage 
'em,  and  let  'em  look  at  it.  Give  'em  time.  More  haste 
less  speed,  with  timorous  cattle." 

"That  is  a  very  pleasant  voice,"  said  poor  Staines, 
rather  more  dictatorially  than  became  the  present  state 
of  his  intellect.      He  added  softly,  "a  true  woman's 


A   SIMPLETON.  281 

voice ; "  then  gloomily,  "  a  voice  of  the  past  —  the  dark, 
dark  past." 

At  this  speech  intruding  itself  upon  the  short  sentences 
of  business,  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  Phoebe 
Falcon  turned  sharply  round  to  look  at  the  speaker.  She 
stared  at  him  ;  she  cried  "  Oh ! "  and  clasped  her  hands, 
and  colored  all  over.  "Why,  sure,"  said  she,  "I  can't  be 
mistook.     Those  eyes  —  'tis  you,  doctor,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Doctor  ?  "  said  Staines,  with  a  puzzled  look.  "  Yes  ; 
I  think  they  called  me  doctor  once.  I'm  an  attendant  in 
the  hospital  now." 

"  Dick ! "  cried  Phcebe,  in  no  little  agitation.  "  Come 
here  this  minute." 

"  What,  afore  I  get  the  horses  ashore  ?  " 

"Ay,  before  you  do  another  thing,  or  say  another  word. 
Come  here,  now."  So  he  came,  and  she  told  him  to  take  a 
good  look  at  the  man.     "Now,"  said  she,  "who  is  that?" 

"  Blest  if  I  know,"  said  he. 

"What,  not  know  the  man  who  saved  your  own  life! 
Oh,  Dick,  what  are  your  eyes  worth  ?  " 

This  discourse  brought  the  few  persons  within  hearing 
into  one  band  of  excited  starers. 

Dick  took  a  good  look,  and  said,  "  I'm  blest  if  I  don't, 
though ;  it  is  the  doctor  that  cut  my  throat." 

This  strange  statement  drew  forth  quite  a  shout  of 
ejaculations. 

"Oh,  better  breathe  through  a  slit  than  not  at  all," 
said  Dick.  "  Saved  my  life  with  that  cut,  he  did,  didn't 
he,  Pheeb  ?  " 

"  That  he  did,  Dick.  Dear  heart,  I  hardly  know  whether 
I  am  in  my  senses  or  not,  seeing  him  a-looking  so  blank. 
You  try  him." 

Dick  came  forward.  "  Sure  you  remember  me,  sir. 
Dick  Dale.     You  cut  my  throat,  and  saved  my  life." 

"  Cut  your  throat  I  why,  that  would  kill  you." 


282  A  SIMPLETON. 

"Not  the  way  you  done  it.  Well,  sir,  you  ain't  the 
man  you  was,  that  is  clear ;  but  you  was  a  good  friend 
to  me,  and  there's  my  hand." 

"  Thank  you,  Dick,"  said  Staines,  and  took  his  hand.  "  I 
don't  remember  yo^l.  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  the  j)ast. 
Tlie  past  is  dead  wall  to  me  —  a  dark  dead  wall,"  and  he 
put  his  hands  to  his  head  with  a  look  of  distress. 

Everybody  there  now  suspected  the  truth,  and  some 
pointed  mysteriously  to  their  own  heads. 

Phoebe  whispered  an  inquiry  to  the  sick  person. 

He  said  a  little  pettishly,  "  All  I  know  is,  he  is  the 
kindest  attendant  in  the  ward,  and  very  attentive." 

"  Oh,  then,  he  is  in  the  public  hospital." 

"  Of  course  he  is." 

The  invalid,  with  the  selfishness  of  his  class,  then 
begged  Staines  to  take  him  out  of  all  this  bustle  down 
to  the  beach.  Staines  complied  at  once,  with  the  utmost 
meekness,  and  said,  "  Good-by,  old  friends ;  forgive  me 
for  not  remembering  you.  It  is  my  great  affliction  that 
the  past  is  gone  from  me  —  gone,  gone."  And  he  went 
sadly  away,  drawing  his  sick  charge  like  a  patient  mule. 

Phoebe  Falcon  looked  after  him,  and  began  to  cry. 

"Nay,  nay,  Phoebe,"  said  Dick;  "don't  ye  take  on 
about  it." 

"I  wonder  at  you,"  sobbed  Phoebe.  "Good  people, 
I'm  fonder  of  my  brother  than  he  is  of  himself,  it 
seems ;  for  I  can't  take  it  so  easy.  Well,  the  Avorld  is 
full  of  trouble.  Let  us  do  what  we  are  here  for.  But  I 
shall  pray  for  the  poor  soul  every  night,  that  his  mind 
may  be  given  back  to  him." 

So  then  she  bustled,  and  gave  herself  to  getting  the 
cattle  on  shore,  and  the  things  put  on  board  her  wagon. 

But  when  this  was  done,  she  said  to  her  brother, 
"Dick,  I  did  not  think  anything  on  earth  could  take  my 
heart  off  the  cattle  and  the  things  we  have  got  from 


A  SIMPLETON.  283 

home ;  but  I  can't  leave  this  without  going  to  the  hospi- 
tal about  our  poor  dear  doctor :  and  it  is  late  for  making 
a  start,  any  way  —  and  you  mustn't  forget  the  news- 
papers for  Eeginald  —  he  is  so  fond  of  them  —  and  you 
must  contrive  to  have  one  sent  out  regular  after  this, 
and  I'll  go  to  the  hospital." 

She  went,  and  saw  the  head  doctor,  and  told  him  he 
had  got  an  attendant  there  she  had  known  in  England 
in  a  very  different  condition,  and  she  had  come  to  see  if 
there  was  anything  she  could  do  for  him  —  for  she  felt 
very  grateful  to  him,  and  grieved  to  see  him  so. 

The  doctor  was  pleased  and  surprised,  and  put  several 
questions. 

Then  she  gave  him  a  clear  statement  of  what  he  had 
done  for  Dick  in  England. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  believe  it  is  the  same  man ; 
for,  now  you  tell  me  this  —  yes,  one  of  the  nurses  told 
me  he  knew  more  about  medicine  than  she  did.  His 
name,  if  you  please." 

"  His  name,  sir  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  his  name.  Of  course  you  know  his  name.  Is 
it  Christie  ?  " 

"  Doctor,"  said  Phoebe,  blushing,  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  will  think  of  me,  but  I  don't  know  his  name.  Laws 
forgive  me,  I  never  had  the  sense  to  ask  it." 

A  shade  of  suspicion  crossed  the  doctor's  face. 

Phoebe  saw  it,  and  colored  to  the  temples.  "  Oh,  sir," 
she  cried  piteously,  "  don't  go  for  to  think  I  have  told 
you  a  lie  !  why  should  I  ?  and  indeed  I  am  not  of  that 
sort,  nor  Dick  neither.  Sir,  I'll  bring  him  to  you,  and 
he  will  say  the  same.  Well,  we  were  all  in  terror  and 
confusion,  and  I  met  him  accidentally  in  the  street. 
He  was  only  a  customer  till  then,  and  paid  ready  money, 
BO  that  is  how  I  never  knew  his  name,  but  if  I  hadn't 
been  the  greatest  fool  in  England,  I  should  have  asked 
his  wife." 


284  A  SIMPLETON. 

''  What !  he  has  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  loveliest  lady  you  ever  clapped  eyes  on, 
and  he  is  almost  as  handsome  ;  has  eyes  in  his  head  like 
jewels ;  'twas  by  them  I  knew  him  on  the  quay,  and  I 
think  he  knew  my  voice  again,  said  as  good  as  he  had 
heard  it  in  past  times." 

"  Did  he  ?  Then  we  have  got  him/'  cried  the  doctor 
energetically. 

"  La,  sir." 

"  Yes ;  if  he  knows  your  voice,  you  will  be  able  in 
time  to  lead  his  memory  back ;  at  least,  I  think  so.  Do 
you  live  in  Cape  Town  ?  " 

"  Dear  heart,  no.  I  live  at  my  own  farm,  a  hundred 
and  eighty  miles  from  this." 

"  What  a  pity  ! " 

«  Why,  sir  ?  " 

"Well— hum!" 

"  Oh,  if  you  think  I  could  do  the  poor  doctor  good  by 
having  him  with  me,  you  have  only  to  say  the  word,  and 
out  he  goes  with  Dick  and  me  to-morrow  morning.  We 
should  have  started  for  home  to-night,  but  for  this." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  madam  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  open- 
ing his  eyes.  "  Would  you  really  encumber  yourself  with 
a  person  whose  reason  is  in  suspense,  and  may  never 
return  ?  " 

"  But  that  is  not  his  fault,  sir.  Why,  if  a  dog  had 
saved  my  brother's  life,  I'd  take  it  home,  and  keep  it  all 
its  days  ;  and  this  is  a  man,  and  a  worthy  man.  Oh,  sir, 
when  I  saw  him  brought  down  so,  and  his  beautiful  eyes 
clouded  like,  my  very  bosom  yearned  over  the  poor  soul ; 
a  kind  act  done  in  dear  old  England,  who  can  see  the 
man  in  trouble  here,  and  not  repay  it  —  ay,  if  it  cost 
one's  blood.  But  indeed  he  is  strong  and  healthy,  and 
hands  are  always  scarce  our  way,  and  the  odds  are 
he  will  earn  his  meat  one  way  or  t'other  j  and  if  he 


A   SIMPLETON.  285 

doesn't,  why,  all  the  better  for  me  ;  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  serving  him  for  nought  that  once  served  me 
for  neither  money  nor  reward." 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,"  said  the  doctor  warmly. 

"  There's  better,  and  there's  worse,"  said  Phoebe 
quietly,  and  even  a  little  coldly. 

"  More  of  the  latter,"  said  the  doctor  dryly.  "  Well, 
Mrs. ?  " 

"  Falcon,  sir." 

"  We  shall  hand  him  over  to  your  care  :  but  first  — ■ 
just  for  form  —  if  you  are  a  married  woman,  we  should 
like  to  see  Dick  here  :  he  is  your  husband,  I  presume." 

Phcfibe  laughed  merrily.  "  Dick  is  my  brother ;  and 
he  can't  be  spared  to  come  here.  Dick  !  he'd  say  black 
was  white  if  I  told  him  to." 

"Then  let  us  see  your  husband  a.bout  it  —  just  for 
form." 

"  My  husband  is  at  the  farm.  I  could  not  venture  so 
far  away,  and  not  leave  him  in  charge."  If  she  had 
said,  "  I  will  not  bring  him  into  temptation,"  that  would 
have  been  nearer  the  truth.  "  Let  that  fly  stick  on  the 
wall,  sir.     What  I  do,  my  husband  will  approve." 

"  I  see  how  it  is.     You  rule  the  roost." 

PhcEbe  did  not  reply  point-blank  to  that ;  she  merely 
said,  "  All  my  chickens  are  happy,  great  and  small,"  and 
an  expression  of  lofty,  womanly,  innocent  pride  illu- 
minated her  face  and  made  it  superb  for  a  moment. 

Jn  short,  it  was  settled  that  Staines  should  accompany 
her  next  morning  to  Dale's  Kloof  Farm,  if  he  chose. 
On  inquiry,  it  appeared  that  he  had  just  returned  to  the 
hospital  with  his  patient.  He  was  sent  for,  and  Phoebe 
asked  him  sweetly  if  he  would  go  with  her  to  her  liouse, 
one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  away,  and  she  would  be 
kind  to  him. 

«  On  the  water  ?  " 


286  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Nay,  by  land ;  but  'tis  a  fine  country,  and  you  will 
see  beautiful  deer  and  things  running  across  the  plains, 
and  "  — 

"  Shall  I  find  the  past  again,  the  past  again  ?  " 

"  Ay,  poor  soul,  that  we  shall,  God  willing.  You  and 
I,  we  will  hunt  it  together." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  gave  her  his  hand.  "  I  will  go 
with  you.  Your  face  belongs  to  the  past,  so  does  your 
voice." 

He  then  inquired,  rather  abruptly,  had  she  any  chil- 
dren.    She  smiled. 

"  Ay,  that  I  have,  the  loveliest  little  boy  you  ever  saw. 
When  you  are  as  you  used  to  be,  you  will  be  his  doctor, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  nurse  him,  and  you  will  help  me  find  the 
past." 

Phoebe  then  begged  Staines  to  be  ready  to  start  at  six 
in  the  morning.  She  and  Dick  would  take  him  up  on 
their  way. 

While  she  was  talking  to  him  the  doctor  slipped  out, 
and  to  tell  the  truth  he  went  to  consult  with  another 
authority,  whether  he  should  take  this  opportunity  of 
telling  Staines  that  he  had  money  and  jewels  at  the 
bank :  he  himself  was  half  inclined  to  do  so ;  but  the 
other,  who  had  not  seen  Phoebe's  face,  advised  him  to  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  "  They  are  always  short  of  money, 
these  colonial  farmers,"  said  he ;  "  she  would  get  every 
shilling  out  of  him." 

"  Most  would  ;  but  this  is  such  an  honest  face." 

"  Well,  but  she  is  a  mother,  you  say." 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  what  mother  could  be  just  to  a  lunatic,  with 
her  own  sweet  angel  babes  to  provide  for  ?  " 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Dr. .     "  Maternal  love  is  apt 

tc  modify  the  conscience." 


A     SIMPLETON".  2^7 

"  What  I  would  do,  —  I  would  take  her  address,  and 
make  her  promise  to  write  if  he  gets  well,  and  if  he  does 
get  well  then  write  to  him,  and  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Dr. acted  on  this  shrewd  advice,  and  ordered  a 

bundle  to  be  made  up  for  the  traveller  out  of  the  hos- 
pital stores :  it  contained  a  nice  light  summer  suit  and 
two  changes  of  linen. 


288  A  SIMPLETON". 


CHAPTEK  XVIII. 

Next  morning,  Staines  and  Dick  Dale  walked  through 
the  streets  of  Cape  Town  side  by  side.  Dick  felt  the 
uneasiness  of  a  sane  man,  not  familiar  with  the  mentally 
afflicted,  who  suddenly  finds  himself  alone  with  one. 
Insanity  turns  men  oftenest  into  sheep  and  hares  ;  but  it 
does  now  and  then  make  them  wolves  and  tigers ;  and  that 
has  saddled  the  insane  in  general  with  a  character  for 
ferocity.  Young  Dale,  then,  cast  many  a  suspicious 
glance  at  his  comrade,  as  he  took  him  along.  These 
glances  were  reassuring:  Christopher's  face  had  no 
longer  the  mobility,  the  expressive  changes,  that  mark 
the  superior  mind ;  his  countenance  was  monotonous : 
but  the  one  expression  was  engaging ;  there  was  a  sweet, 
patient,  lamb-like  look :  the  glorious  eye  a  little  troubled 
and  perplexed,  but  wonderfully  mild.  Dick  Dale  looked 
and  looked,  and  his  uneasiness  vanished.  And  the  more 
he  looked,  the  more  did  a  certain  wonder  creep  over  him, 
and  make  him  scarce  believe  the  thing  he  knew;  viz., 
that  a  learned  doctor  had  saved  him  from  the  jaws  of 
death  by  rare  knowledge,  sagacity,  courage,  and  skill 
combined :  and  that  mighty  man  of  wisdom  was  brought 
down  to  this  lamb,  and  would  go  north,  south,  east,  or 
west,  with  sweet  and  perfect  submission,  even  as  he, 
Dick  Dale,  should  appoint.  With  these  reflections  honest 
Dick  felt  his  eyes  get  a  little  misty,  and,  to  use  those 
words  of  Scripture,  which  nothing  can  surpass  or  equal, 
his  bowels  yearned  over  the  man. 

As  for  Christopher,  he  looked  straight  forward,  and 
said  not  a  word  till  they  cleared  the  town  j  but  when  he 


A   SBIPLETON.  289 

saw  the  vast  flowery  vale,  and  the  far-off  violet  hills, 
like  Scotland  glorified,  he  turned  to  Dick  with  an 
ineffable  expression  of  sweetness  and  good  fellowship, 
and  said,  "  Oh,  beautiful !   We'll  hunt  the  past  together." 

"  We  —  will  —  so,"  said  Dick,  with  a  sturdy  and  indeed 
almost  a  stern  resolution. 

Now,  this  he  said,  not  that  he  cared  for  the  past,  nor 
intended  to  waste  the  present  by  going  upon  its  prede- 
cessor's trail ;  but  he  had  come  to  a  resolution  —  full 
three  minutes  ago  —  to  humor  his  companion  to  the  top 
of  his  bent,  and  say  "  Yes  "  with  hypocritical  vigor  to 
everything  not  directly  and  immediately  destructive  to 
him  and  his. 

The  next  moment  they  turned  a  corner  and  came  upon 
the  rest  of  their  party,  hitherto  hidden  by  the  apricot 
hedge  and  a  turning  in  the  road.  A  blue-black  Kafir, 
with  two  yellow  Hottentot  drivers,  man  and  boj',  was 
harnessing,  in  the  most  primitive  mode,  four  horses  on 
to  the  six  oxen  attached  to  the  wagon ;  and  the  horses 
Avere  flattening  their  ears,  and  otherwise  resenting  the 
incongruity.  Meantime  a  fourth  figure,  a  colossal  young 
Kafir  woman,  looked  on  superior  with  folded  arms,  like 
a  sable  Juno  looking  down  with  that  absolute  composure 
upon  the  struggles  of  man  and  other  animals,  which 
Lucretius  and  his  master  Epicurus  assigned  to  the 
Divine  nature.  Without  jesting,  the  grandeur,  majesty, 
and  repose  of  this  figure  were  unsurpassable  in  nature, 
and  such  as  have  vanished  from  sculpture  two  thousand 
years  and  more. 

Dick  Dale  joined  the  group  immediately,  and  soon 
arranged  the  matter.  Meantime,  Phoebe  descended  from 
the  wagon,  and  welcomed  Christopher  very  kindly,  and 
asked  him  if  he  Avould  like  to  sit  beside  her,  or  to 
walk. 

He  glanced  into  the  wagon ;  it  was  covered  and  cur- 


290  A   SIMPLETON. 

tained,  and  dark  as  a  cupboard.  "I  think,"-  said  he, 
timidly,  "  I  shall  see  more  of  the  past  out  here." 

"  So  you  will,  poor  soul,"  said  Phoebe  kindly,  "  and 
better  for  your  health :  but  you  must  not  go  far  from  the 
wagon,  for  I'm  a  fidget ;  and  I  have  got  the  care  of 
you  now,  you  know,  for  want  of  a  better.  Come,  Ucatella ; 
you  must  ride  with  me,  and  help  me  sort  the  things; 
they  are  all  higgledy-piggledy."  So  those  two  got  into 
the  wagon  through  the  back  curtains.  Then  the  Kafir 
driver  flourished  his  kambok,  or  long  whip,  in  the  air, 
and  made  it  crack  like  a  jjistol,  and  the  horses  reared, 
and  the  oxen  started  and  slowly  bored  in  between' them, 
for  they  whinnied,  and  kicked,  and  spread  out  like  a  fan 
all  over  the  road ;  but  a  flick  or  two  from  the  terrible 
kambok  soon  sent  them  bleeding  and  trembling  and 
rubbing  shoulders,  and  the  oxen,  mildly  but  persistently 
goring  their  recalcitrating  haunches,  the  intelligent 
animals  went  ahead,  and  revenged  themselves  by 
breaking  the  harness.  But  that  goes  for  little  in  Cape 
travel. 

The  body  of  the  wagon  was  long  and  low  and  very 
stout.  The  tilt  strong  and  tight-made.  The  roof  inside, 
and  most  of  the  sides,  lined  with  green  baize.  Curtains 
of  the  same  to  the  little  window  and  the  back.  There 
was  a  sort  of  hold  literally  built  full  of  purchases ;  a  small 
fireproof  safe ;  huge  blocks  of  salt ;  saws,  axes,  pick- 
axes, adzes,  flails,  tools  innumerable,  bales  of  wool  and 
linen  stuff,  hams,  and  two  hundred  empty  sacks  strewn 
over  all.  In  large  pigeon-holes  fixed  to  the  sides  were 
light  goods,  groceries,  collars,  glaring  cotton  handker- 
chiefs for  Phoebe's  aboriginal  domestics,  since  not  every 
year  did  she  go  to  Cape  Town,  a  twenty  days'  journey 
by  wagon  :  things  dangled  from  the  very  roof ;  but  no 
hard  goods  there,  if  you  please,  to  batter  one's  head  in  a 
spill.    Outside  were  latticed  grooves  with  tent,  tent-poles, 


A  SIMPLETON.  291 

and  rifles.  Great  pieces  of  cork,  and  bags  of  hay  and 
corn,  hung  dangling  from  mighty  hooks  —  the  latter  to 
feed  the  cattle,  should  they  be  compelled  to  camp  out  on 
some  sterile  spot  on  the  Veldt,  and  methinks  to  act  as 
buffers,  should  the  whole  concern  roll  down  a  nullah  or 
little  precipice,  no  very  uncommon  incident  in  the  blessed 
region  they  must  pass  to  reach  Dale's  Kloof. 

Harness  mended;  fresh  start.  The  Hottentots  and 
Kafir  vociferated  and  yelled,  and  made  the  unearthly 
row  of  a  dozen  wild  beasts  wrangling :  the  horses  drew 
the  bullocks,  they  the  wagon;  it  crawled  and  creaked, 
and  its  appendages  wobbled  finely. 

Slowly  they  creaked  and  wobbled  past  apricot  hedges 
and  detached  houses  and  huts,  and  got  into  an  open 
country  without  a  tree,  but  here  and  there  a  stunted 
camel-thorn.  The  soil  was  arid,  and  grew  little  food  for 
man  or  beast ;  yet,  b}^  a  singular  freak  of  nature,  it  put 
forth  abundantly  things  that  here  at  home  we  find  it 
harder  to  raise  than  homely  grass  and  oats ;  the  ground 
was  thickly  clad  with  flowers  of  delightful  hues  ;  pyra- 
mids of  snow  or  rose-color  bordered  the  track ;  j^ellow 
and  crimson  stars  bejewelled  the  ground,  and  a  thousand 
bulbous  plants  burst  into  all  imaginable  colors,  and 
spread  a  rainbow  carpet  to  the  foot  of  the  violet  hills ; 
and  all  this  glowed,  and  gleamed,  and  glittered  in  a  sun 
shining  with  incredible  brightness  and  purity  of  light, 
but,  somehow,  without  giving  a  headache  or  making  the 
air  sultry. 

Christopher  fell  to  gathering  flowers,  and  interrogating 
the  past  by  means  of  them  ;  for  he  had  studied  botany  : 
the  past  gave  him  back  some  pitiably  vague  ideas.  He 
sighed.  "Never  mind,"  said  he  to  Dick,  and  tapped  his 
forehead :  "  it  is  here  :  it  is  only  locked  up." 

"All.  right,"  said  Dick;  "nothing  is  lost  when  you 
know  where  'tis." 


202  A   SIMPLETON. 

"This  is  a  beautiful  country,"  suggested  Christopher. 
"  It  is  all  flowers.  It  is  like  the  garden  of  —  the  garden 
of  —  locked  up." 

"It  is  de — light — ful,"  replied  the  self-compelled 
optimist  sturdily.  But  here  nature  gave  way ;  he  was 
obliged  to  relieve  his  agricultural  bile  by  getting  into 
the  cart  and  complaining  to  his  sister.  "  'Twill  take  us 
all  our  time  to  cure  him.  He  have  been  bepraising  this 
here  soil,  which  it  is  only  fit  to  clean  the  women's  kettles. 
'T wouldn't  feed  three  larks  to  an  acre,  I  know ;  no,  nor 
half  so  'tiianyP 

"  Poor  soul !  mayhap  the  flowers  have  took  his  eye.  Sit 
here  a  bit,  Dick.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  many 
things." 

While  these  two  were  conversing,  Ucatella,  who  was 
very  fond  of  Phoebe,  but  abhorred  wagons,  stepped  out 
and  stalked  by  the  side,  like  an  ostrich,  a  camelopard,  or 
a  Taglioni ;  nor  did  the  effort  with  which  she  subdued 
her  stride  to  the  pace  of  the  procession  appear :  it  was 
Lhe  poetry  of  walking.  Christopher  admired  it  a  moment ; 
i,)ut  the  noble  expanse  tempted  him,  and  he  strode  forth 
l,ke  a  giant,  his  lungs  inflating  in  the  glorious  air,  and 
s  )on  left  the  wagon  far  behind. 

The  consequence  was  that  when  they  came  to  a  halt, 
a.,.,id  Dick  and  Phoebe  got  out  to  release  and  water  the 
cj»,ttle,  there  was  Christopher's  figure  retiring  into 
space. 

"Hanc  rem  segre  tulit  Phoebe,"  as  my  old  friend  Livy 
would  say.  "  Oh  dear !  oh  dear  !  if  he  strays  so  far  from 
us,  he  will  be  eaten  up  at  nightfall  by  jackals,  or  lions, 
or  something.     One  of  you  must  go  after  him." 

"  Me  go,  missy,"  said  Ucatella  zealously,  pleased  with 
an  excuse  for  stretching  her  magnificent  limbs. 

"  Ay,  but  mayhap  he  will  not  come  back  with  you : 
will  he,  Dick  ?  " 


A  SIMPLETON.  293 

"  That  he  will,  like  a  lamb."  Dick  wanted  to  look 
after  the  cattle. 

"  Yuke,  my  girl,"  said  Phoebe,  "  listen.  He  has  been 
a  good  friend  of  ours  in  trouble ;  and  now  he  is  not  quite 
right  here.  So  be  very  kind  to  him,  but  be  sure  and 
bring  him  back,  or  keep  him  till  we  come." 

"  Me  bring  him  back  alive,  certain  sure,"  said  Ucatella, 
smiling  from  ear  to  ear.  She  started  with  a  sudden  glide, 
like  a  boat  taking  the  water,  and  appeared  almost  to 
saunter  away,  so  easy  was  the  motion;  but  when  you 
looked  at  the  ground  she  was  covering,  the  stride,  or 
glide,  or  whatever  it  was,  was  amazing. 

"  She  seem'd  in  walking  to  devour  the  way." 

Christopher  walked  fast,  but  nothing  like  this  ;  and  as 
he  stopped  at  times  to  botanize  and  gaze  at  the  violet 
hills,  and  interrogate  the  past,  she  came  up  with  him 
about  five  miles  from  the  halting-place. 

She  laid  her  hand  quietly  on  his  shoulder,  and  said, 
with  a  broad  genial  smile,  and  a  musical  chuckle,  "  Uca- 
tella come  for  you.     Missy  want  to  speak  you." 

"  Oh !  very  well ; "  and  he  turned  back  with  her, 
directly ;  but  she  took  him  by  the  hand  to  make  sure ; 
and  they  marched  back  peaceably,  in  silence,  and  hand 
in  hand.  But  he  looked  and  looked  at  her,  and  at  last 
he  stopped  dead  short,  and  said,  a  little  arrogantly, 
"  Come,  I  know  you.  You  are  not  locked  up ; "  and  he 
inspected  her  point-blank.  She  stood  like  an  antique 
statue,  and  faced  the  examination.  "  You  are  '  the  noble 
savage,'  "  said  he,  having  concluded  his  inspection. 

"Nay,"  said  she.     "I  be  the  housemaid." 

"  The  housemaid  ?  " 

"Iss,  the  housemaid,  Ucatella.  So  come  on."  And 
she  drew  him  along,  sore  perplexed. 


294  A   SIMPLETON. 

They  met  the  cavalcade  a  mile  from  the  halting-place, 
and  Phoebe  apologized  a  little  to  Christopher,  "  I  hope 
yovi'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  said  she,  "  but  I  am  just  for  all 
the  world  like  a  hen  with  her  chickens ;  if  but  one 
strays,  I'm  all  in  a  flutter  till  I  get  him  back." 

"  Madam,"  said  Christopher,  "  I  am  very  unhappy  at 
the  way  things  are  locked  up.  Please  tell  me  truly,  is 
this  '  the  housemaid,'  or  '  the  noble  savage '  ?  " 

'•'Well,  she  is  both,  if  you  go  to  that,  and  the  best 
creature  ever  breathed." 

"  Then  she  is  '  the  noble  savage '  ?  " 

"  Ay,  so  they  call  her,  becavise  she  is  black." 

"  Then,  thank  Heaven,"  said  Christopher,  "  the  past  is 
not  all  locked  up." 

That  afternoon  they  stopped  at  an  inn.  But  Dick 
slept  in  the  cart.  At  three  in  the  morning  they  took 
the  road  again,  and  creaked  along  supernaturally  loud 
under  a  purple  firmament  studded  with  huge  stars,  all 
bright  as  moons,  that  lit  the  way  quite  clear,  and  showed 
black  things  innumerable  flitting  to  and  fro ;  these  made 
Phoebe  shudder,  but  were  no  doubt  harmless ;  still  Dick 
carried  his  double  rifle,  and  a  revolver  in  his  belt. 

They  made  a  fine  march  in  the  cool,  until  some  slight 
mists  gathered,  and  then  they  halted  and  breakfasted 
near  a  silvery  kloof,  and  watered  the  cattle.  While  thus 
employed,  suddenly  a  golden  tinge  seemed  to  fall  like  a 
lash  on  the  vapors  of  night ;  they  scudded  away  directly, 
as  jackals  before  the  lion;  the  stars  paled,  and  with  one 
incredible  bound,  the  mighty  sun  leaped  into  the  horizon, 
and  rose  into  the  sky.  In  a  moment  all  the  lesser  lamps 
of  heaven  were  out,  though  late  so  glorious,  and  there 
was  nothing  but  one  vast  vaulted  turquoise,  and  a  great 
flaming  topaz  mounting  with  eternal  ardor  to  its 
centre. 

This  did  not  escape  Christopher.     "  What  is  this  ? " 


A   SIMPLETON.  295 

said  lie.  "  No  twilight.  The  tropics  !  "  He  managed 
to  dig  that  word  out  of  the  past  in  a  moment. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  sun  was  so  hot  that  they  halted,  and 
let  the  oxen  loose  till  sun-down.  Then  they  began  to 
climb  the  mountains. 

The  way  was  steep  and  rugged ;  indeed,  so  rough  in 
places,  that  the  cattle  had  to  jump  over  the  holes,  and  as 
the  wagon  could  not  jump  so  cleverly,  it  jolted  appall- 
ingly, and  many  a  scream  issued  forth. 

'Near  the  summit,  when  the  poor  beasts  were  dead 
beat,  they  got  into  clouds  and  storms,  and  the  wind 
rushed  howling  at  them  through  the  narrow  pass  with 
such  fury  it  flattened  the  horses'  ears,  and  bade  fair  to 
sweep  the  whole  cavalcade  to  the  plains  below. 

Christopher  and  Dick  walked  close  behind,  under  the 
lee  of  the  wagon.  Christopher  said  in  Dick's  ear,  "  D'ye 
hear  that  ?     Time  to  reef  topsails,  captain." 

"It  is  time  to  do  something j'^  said  Dick.  He  took 
advantage  of  a  jutting  rock,  drew  the  wagon  half  behind 
it  and  across  the  road,  propped  the  wheels  with  stones, 
and  they  all  huddled  to  leeward,  man  and  beast  indis- 
criminately. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Christopher,  approvingly ;  "  we  are  lying 
to  :  a  very  —  proper  —  course." 

They  huddled  and  shivered  three  hours,  and  then  the 
sun  leaped  into  the  sky,  and  lo  !  a  transformation  scene. 
The  cold  clouds  were  first  rosy  fleeces,  then  golden  ones, 
then  gold-dust,  then  gone ;  the  rain  was  big  diamonds, 
then  crystal  sparks,  then  gone ;  the  rocks  and  the  bushes 
sparkled  with  gem-like  drops,  and  shone  and  smiled. 

The  shivering  party  bustled,  and  toasted  the  potent 
luminary  in  hot  coffee ;  for  Phoebe's  wagon  had  a  stove 
and  chimney;  and  then  they  yoked  their  miscellaneous 
cattle  again,  and  breasted  the  hill.  With  many  a  jump, 
and  bump,  and  jolt,  and  scream  from  inside,  they  reached 


296  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  summit,  and  looked  down  on  a  vast  slope,  flowering 
but  arid,  a  region  of  gaudy  sterility. 

The  descent  was  more  tremendous  than  the  ascent, 
and  Phcebe  got  out,  and  told  Christopher  she  would 
liever  cross  the  ocean  twice  than  this  dreadful  mountain 
once. 

The  Hottentot  with  the  reins  was  now  bent  like  a  bow 
all  the  time,  keeping  the  cattle  from  flowing  diverse  over 
precipices,  and  the  Kafir  with  his  kambok  was  here,  and 
there,  and  everywhere,  his  whip  flicking  like  a  lancet, 
and  cracking  like  a  horse-pistol,  and  the  pair  vied  like 
Apollo  and  Pan,  not  which  could  sing  sweetest,  but  swear 
loudest.  Having  the  lofty  hill  for  some  hoars  between 
them  and  the  sun,  they  bumped,  and  jolted,  and  stuck  in 
mud-holes,  and  flogged  and  swore  the  cattle  out  of  them 
again,  till  at  last  they  got  to  the  bottom,  where  ran  a 
turbid  kloof  or  stream.  It  was  fordable,  but  the  recent 
rains  had  licked  away  the  slope ;  so  the  existing  bank 
was  two  feet  above  the  stream.  Little  recked  the  demon 
drivers  or  the  parched  cattle ;  in  they  plunged  promiscu- 
ously, with  a  flop  like  thunder,  followed  by  an  awful 
splashing.  The  wagon  stuck  fast  in  the  mud,  the  horses 
tied  themselves  in  a  knot,  and  rolled  about  in  the  stream, 
and  the  oxen  drank  imperturbably. 

"Oh,  the  salt!  the  salt!"  screamed  Phcebe,  and  the 
rocks  re-echoed  her  lamentations. 

The  wagon  was  inextricable,  the  cattle  done  up,  the 
savages  lazy,  so  they  stayed  for  several  hours.  Chris- 
topher botanized,  but  not  alone.  Phoebe  drew  Ucatella 
apart,  and  explained  to  her  that  when  a  man  is  a  little 
wrong  in  the  head,  it  makes  a  child  of  him :  "  So,"  said 
she,  "  you  must  think  he  is  your  child,  and  never  let  him 
out  of  your  sight." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  sable  Juno,  who  spoke  English 
ridiculously  well,  and  rapped  out  idioms;  especially 
"  Come  on,"  and  "  All  right." 


A   SIMPLETON.  297 

About  dusk,  what  the  drivers  had  foreseen,  though 
they  had  not  the  sense  to  explain  it,  took  place  ;  the 
kloof  dwindled  to  a  mere  gutter,  and  the  wagon  stuck 
high  and  dry,  Phoebe  waved  her  handkerchief  to  Uca- 
tella.  Ucatella,  who  had  dogged  Christopher  about  four 
hours  without  a  word,  now  took  his  hand,  and  said,  "  My 
child,  missy  wants  us ;  come  on ; "  and  so  led  him  unre- 
sistingly. 

The  drivers,  flogging  like  devils,  cursing  like  troopers, 
and  yelling  like  hyenas  gone  mad,  tried  to  get  the  wagon 
off ;  but  it  was  fast  as  a  rock.  Then  Dick  and  the  Hot- 
tentot put  their  shoulders  to  one  wheel,  and  tried  to 
prise  it  up,  while  the  Kaiir  encouraged  the  cattle  v/ith 
his  thong.  Observing  this,  Christopher  went  in,  with 
his  sable  custodian  at  his  heels,  and  heaved  at  the  other 
embedded  wheel.  The  wagon  was  lifted  directly,  so  that 
the  cattle  tugged  it  out,  and  they  got  clear.  On  examin- 
ation, the  salt  had  just  escaped. 

Says  Ucatella  to  Phoebe,  a  little  ostentatiously,  "  My 
child  is  strong  and  useful;  make  little  missy  a  good 
slave." 

"  A  slave !  Heaven  forbid !  "  said  Phoebe.  "  He'll  be 
a  father  to  us  all,  once  he  gets  his  head  back ;  and  I  do 
think  it  is  coming  —  but  very  slow." 

The  next  three  days  offered  the  ordinary  incidents  of 
African  travel,  but  nothing  that  operated  much  on  Chris- 
topher's mind,  which  is  the  true  point  of  this  narrative ; 
and  as  there  are  many  admirable  books  of  African  travel, 
it  is  the  more  proper  I  should  confine  myself  to  what 
may  be  called  the  relevant  incidents  of  the  journey. 

On  the  sixth  day  from  Cape  Town,  they  came  up  with 
a  large  wagon  stuck  in  a  mud-hole.  There  was  quite  a 
party  of  Boers,  Hottentots,  Kafirs,  round  it,  armed  with 
whips,  shamboks,  and  oaths,  lashing  and  cursing  without 
intermission,  or  any  good   effect;   and   there  were  *--h(» 


298  A  SIMPLETON. 

wretclied  beasts  straining  in  vain  at  their  choking  yokes, 
moaning  with  anguish,  trembling  with  terror,  their  poor 
mihl  eyes  dilated  with  agony  and  fear,  and  often,  when 
the  blows  of  the  cruel  shamboks  cut  open  their  bleeding 
flesh,  they  bellowed  to  Heaven  their  miserable  and  vain 
protest  against  this  devil's  work. 

Then  the  past  opened  its  stores,  and  lent  Christopher 
a  word. 

"Barbarians  ! "  he  roared,  and  seized  a  gigantic  Kafir 
by  the  throat,  just  as  his  shambok  descended  for  the 
hundredth  time.  There  was  a  mighty  struggle,  as  of 
two  Titans ;  dust  flew  round  the  combatants  in  a  cloud ; 
a  whirling  of  big  bodies,  and  down  they  both  went  with 
an  awful  thud,  the  Saxon  uppermost,  by  Nature's  law. 

The  Kafir's  companions,  amazed  at  first,  began  to  roll 
their  eyes  and  draw  a  knife  or  two ;  but  Dick  ran  for 
ward,  and  said,  "  Don't  hurt  him :  he  is  wrong  hereP 

This  representation  pacified  them  more  readily  than 
one  might  have  expected.  Dick  added  hastily,  "We'll 
get  you  out  of  the  hole  oxir  way,  and  cry  quits." 
•  The  proposal  was  favorably  received,  and  the  next 
minute  Christopher  and  Ucatella  at  one  wheel,  and  Dick 
and  the  Hottentot  at  the  other,  with  no  other  help  than 
two  pointed  iron  bars  bought  for  their  shepherds,  had 
effected  what  sixteen  oxen  could  not.  To  do  this  Dick 
Dale  had  bared  his  arm  to  the  shoulder;  it  was  a 
stalwart  limb,  like  his  sister's,  and  he  now  held  it  out  all 
swollen  and  corded,  and  slapped  it  with  his  other  hand. 
"  Look'ee  here,  you  chaps,"  said  he :  "  the  worst  use  a  man 
can  put  that  there  to  is  to  go  cutting  out  a  poor  beast's 
heart  for  not  doing  more  than  he  can.  You  are  good 
fellows,  you  Kafirs ;  but  I  think  you  have  sworn  never 
to  put  your  shoulder  to  a  wheel.  But,  bless  your  poor 
silly  hearts,  a  little  strength  put  on  at  the  right  place  is 
better  than  a  deal  at  the  wrong." 


A  SIMPLETON.  299 

"  You  hear  that,  you  Kafir  chaps  ?  "  inquired  Ucatella, 
a  little  arrogantly  —  for  a  Kafir. 

The  Kafii'S,  who  had  stood  quite  silent  to  imbibe  these 
remarks,  bowed  their  heads  with  all  the  dignity  and 
politeness  of  Koman  senators,  Spanish  grandees,  etc. ; 
and  one  of  the  party  replied  gravely,  "  The  words  of  the 
white  man  are  always  wise." 

"  And  his  arm  blanked  ^  strong,"  said  Christopher's  late 
opponent,  from  whose  mind,  however,  all  resentment  had 
vanished. 

Thus  spake  the  Kafirs ;  yet  to  this  day  never  hath  a 
man  of  all  their  tribe  put  his  shoulder  to  a  wheel,  so 
strong  is  custom  in  South  Africa;  probably  in  all  Africa; 
since  I  remember  St.  Augustin  found  it  stronger  than  he 
liked,  at  Carthage. 

Ucatella  went  to  Phoebe,  and  said,  "  Missy,  my  child  is 
good  and  brave." 

"  Bother  you  and  your  child  ! "  said  poor  Phoebe.  '*  To 
think  of  his  flying  at  a  giant  like  that,  and  you  letting 
of  him.  I'm  all  of  a  tremble  from  head  to  foot :  "  and 
Phoebe  relieved  herself  with  a  cry. 

"  Oh,  missy  ! "  said  Ucatella. 

"  There,  never  mind  me.  Do  go  and  look  after  your 
child,  and  keep  him  out  of  more  mischief.  I  wish  we 
were  safe  at  Dale's  Kloof,  I  do." 

Ucatella  complied,  and  Avent  botanizing  with  Dr. 
Staines ;  but  that  gentleman,  in  the  course  of  his  scien- 
tific researches  into  camomile  flowers  and  blasted  heath, 
which  were  all  that  lovely  region  afforded,  suddenly  suc- 
cumbed and  stretched  out  his  limbs,  and  said,  sleepily, 
"Good-night  —  U — cat — ".and  was  off  into  the  land  of 
Nod. 

The  wagon,  which,  by  the  way,  had  passed  the  larger 

>  I  take  this  very  useful  expression  from  a  delightful  volume  by  Mr 
Boyle. 


300  A   SIMPLETON. 

but  slower  vehicle,  found  him  fast  asleep,  and  Ucatella 
standing  by  him  as  ordered,  motionless  and  grand. 

"  Oh,  dear !  what  now  ? "  said  Phoebe :  but  being  a 
sensible  woman,  though  in  the  hen  and  chickens  line, 
she  said,  "  'Tis  the  fighting  and  the  excitement.  'Twill 
do  him  more  good  than  harm,  I  think : "  and  she  had 
him  bestowed  in  the  wagon,  and  never  disturbed  him 
night  nor  day.  He  slept  thirty-six  hours  at  a  stretch ; 
and  when  he  awoke,  she  noticed  a  slight  change  in  his 
eye.  He  looked  at  her  with  an  interest  he  had  not 
shown  before,  and  said,  "Madam,  I  know  you." 

''  Thank  God  for  that,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  You  kept  a  little  shop,  in  the  other  world." 

Phoebe  opened  her  eyes  with  some  little  alarm. 

'*  You  understand  —  the  world  that  is  locked  up  —  for 
the  present." 

"Well,  sir,  so  I  did;  and  sold  you  milk  and  butter. 
Don't  you  mind  ?  " 

"No  —  the  milk  and  butter  —  they  are  locked  up." 

The  country  became  wilder,  the  signs  of  life  miserably 
sparse  ;  about  every  twenty  miles  the  farmhouse  or  hut 
of  a  degenerate  Boer,  whose  children  and  slaves  pigged 
together,  and  all  ran  jostling,  and  the  mistress  screamed 
in  her  shrill  Dutch,  and  the  Hottentots  all  chirped 
together,  and  confusion  reigned  for  want  of  method: 
often  they  went  miles,  and  saw  nothing  but  a  hut  or 
two,  with  a  nude  Hottentot  eating  flesh,  burnt  a  little, 
but  not  cooked,  at  the  door ;  and  the  kloofs  became 
deeper  and  more  turbid,  and  Phoebe  was  in  an  agony 
about  her  salt,  and  Christopher  advised  her  to  break  it 
in  big  lumps,  and  hang  it  all  about  the  wagon  in  sacks ; 
and  she  did,  and  Ucatella  said  profoundly,  "  My  child  is 
wise ;  "  and  they  began  to  draw  near  home,  and  Phoebe 
to  fidget ;  and  she  said  to  Christopher,  "  Oh,  dear !  I 
hope  they  are  all  alive  and  well :  once  you  leave  home, 


A   SIMPLETON.  301 

you  don't  know  what  may  have  happened  by  then  you 
come  back.  One  comfort,  I've  got  Sophy:  she  is  very 
dependable,  and  no  beauty,  thank  my  stars." 

That  night,  the  last  they  had  to  travel,  was  cloudy,  for 
a  wonder,  and  they  groped  with  lanterns. 

Ucatella  and  her  child  brought  up  the  rear.  Presently 
there  was  a  light  pattering  behind  them.  The  swift- 
eared  Ucatella  clutched  Christopher's  arm,  and  turning 
round,  pointed  back,  with  eyeballs  white  and  rolling. 
There  were  full  a  dozen  animals  following  them,  whose 
bodies  seemed  colorless  as  shadows,  but  their  eyes  little 
balls  of  flaming  lime-light. 

"  Gun  ! "  said  Christie,  and  gave  the  Kafir's  arm  a 
pinch.  She  flew  to  the  caravan ;  he  walked  backwards, 
facing  the  foe.  The  wagon  was  halted,  and  Dick  ran 
back  with  two  loaded  rifles.  In  his  haste  he  gave  one 
to  Christopher,  and  repented  at  leisure  ;  but  Christopher 
took  it,  and  handled  it  like  an  experienced  person,  and 
said,  with  delight,  "Volunteer."  But  with  this  the 
cautious  animals  had  vanished  like  bubbles.  But  Dick 
told  Christopher  they  would  be  sure  to  come  back ;  he 
ordered  Ucatella  into  the  wagon,  and  told  her  to  warn 
Phoebe  not  to  be  frightened  if  guns  should  be  fired. 
This  soothing  message  brought  Phoebe's  white  face  out 
between  the  curtains,  and  she  implored  them  to  get  into 
the  wagon,  and  not  tempt  Providence. 

''  Not  till  I  have  got  thee  a  kaross  of  jackal's  fur." 

"  I'll  never  wear  it ! "  said  Phoebe  violently,  co  divert 
iiim  from  his  purpose. 

"Time  will  show,"  said  Dick  dryly.  "These  varmint 
are  on  and  of£  like  shadows,  and  as  cunning  as  Old  Nick. 
We  two  will  walk  on  quite  unconcerned  like,  and  as  soon 
as  ever  the  varmint  are  at  our  heels  you  give  us  the 
office;  and  we'll  pepper  their  fur  —  won't  we,  doctor?" 

"We  —  will  —  pepper  —  their  fur,"  said  Christopher, 


302  A  SIMPLETON. 

repeating  what  to  him  was  a  lesson  in  the  ancient  and 
venerable  English  tongue. 

So  they  walked  on  expectant ;  and  by  and  by  the  four- 
footed  shadows  with  large  lime-light  eyes  came  stealing 
on ;  and  Phoebe  shrieked,  and  they  vanished  before  the 
men  could  draw  a  bead  on  them. 

"Thou's  no  use  at  this  work,  Pheeb,"  said  Dick. 
"Shut  thy  eyes,  and  let  us  have  Yuke." 

"  Iss,  master  :  here  I  be." 

"  You  can  bleat  like  a  lamb ;  for  I've  heard  ye." 

"  Iss,  master.  I  bleats  beautiful ; "  and  she  showed 
snowy  teeth  from  ear  to  ear. 

"Well,  then,  when  the  varmint  are  at  our  heels,  draw 
in  thy  woolly  head,  and  bleat  like  a  young  lamb.  They 
won't  turn  from  that,  I  know,  the  vagabonds." 

Matters  being  thus  prepared,  they  sauntered  on ;  but 
the  jackals  were  very  wary.  They  came  like  shadows, 
so  departed  —  a  great  many  times  :  but  at  last  being 
re-enforced,  they  lessened  the  distance,  and  got  so  close, 
that  Ucatella  withdrew  her  head,  and  bleated  faintly 
inside  the  wagon.  The  men  turned,  levelling  their  rifles, 
and  found  the  troop  within  twenty  yards  of  them.  They 
wheeled  directly :  but  the  four  barrels  poured  their  flame, 
four  loud  reports  startled  the  night,  and  one  jackal  lay 
dead  as  a  stone,  another  limped  behind  the  flying  crowd, 
and  one  lay  kicking.  He  was  soon  despatched,  and  both 
carcasses  flung  over  the  patient  oxen;  and  good-by 
jackals  for  the  rest  of  that  journey. 

Ucatella,  with  all  a  Kafir's  love  of  fire-arms,  clapped 
her  hands  with  delight.  "My  child  shoots  loud  and 
strong,"  said  she. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  Phoebe ;  "  they  are  all  alike ; 
wherever  there's  men,  look  for  quarrelling  and  firing  off. 
We  had  only  to  sit  quiet  in  the  wagon." 

"Ay,"  said  Dick,  "the   cattle  especially  —  for  it  is 


A   SDIPLETON.  303 

them  the  varmint  were  after  —  and  let  'em  eat  my 
Hottentots." 

At  this  picture  of  the  cattle  inside  the  wagon,  and 
the  jackals  supping  on  cold  Hottentot  alongside,  Phoebe, 
who  had  no  more  humor  than  a  cat,  but  a  heart  of  gold, 
shut  up,  and  turned  red  with  confusion  at  her  false 
estimate  of  the  recent  transaction  in  fur. 

When  the  sun  rose  they  found  themselves  in  a  tract 
somewhat  less  arid  and  inhuman;  and,  at  last,  at  the 
rise  of  a  gentle  slope,  they  saw,  half  a  mile  before  them, 
a  large  farmhouse  partly  clad  with  creepers,  and  a  little 
plot  of  turf,  the  fruit  of  eternal  watering ;  item,  a 
flower-bed ;  item,  snow-white  palings ;  item,  an  air  of 
cleanliness  and  neatness  scarcely  known  to  those  dirty 
descendants  of  clean  ancestors,  the  Boers.  At  some 
distance  a  very  large  dam  glittered  in  the  sun,  and  a 
troop  of  snow-white  sheep  were  watering  at  it. 

"  England  ! "  cried  Christopher. 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Phoebe  ;  "  as  nigh  as  man  can  make 
it."  But  soon  she  began  to  fret :  "  Oh,  dear !  where  are 
they  all  ?  If  it  was  me,  I'd  be  at  the  door  looking  out. 
Ah,  there  goes  Yuke  to  rouse  them  up." 

"Come,  Pheeb,  don't  you  fidget,"  said  Dick  kindly. 
"  Why,  the  lazy  lot  are  scarce  out  of  their  beds  by  this 
time." 

"  More  shame  for  'em.  If  they  were  away  from  me, 
and  coming  home,  I  should  be  at  the  door  day  and  night, 
I  know.     Ah  ! " 

She  uttered  a  scream  of  delight,  for  just  then,  out 
came  Ucatella,  with  little  Tommy  on  her  shoulder,  and 
danced  along  to  meet  her.  As  she  came  close,  she  raised 
the  chubby  child  high  in  the  air,  and  he  crowed ;  and 
then  she  lowered  him  to  his  mother,  who  rushed  at  him, 
seized,  and  devoured  him  with  a  hundred  inarticidate 
cries  of  joy  and  love  unspeakable. 


304  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Nature  !  "  said  Christopher  dogmatically,  recog- 
nizing an  old  acquaintance,  and  booking  it  as  one  more 
conquest  gained  over  the  past.  But  there  was  too  much 
excitement  over  the  cherub  to  attend  to  him.  So  he 
watched  the  woman  gravely,  and  began  to  moralize  with 
all  his  might.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  is  what  we  used  to 
call  maternal  love ;  and  all  animals  had  it,  and  that  is 
why  the  noble  savage  went  for  him.  It  was  very 
good  of  you.  Miss  Savage,"  said  the  poor  soul  senten- 
tiously. 

"  Good  of  her ! "  cried  Phoebe.  "  She  is  all  goodness. 
Savage,  find  me  a  Dutchwoman  like  her !  I'll  give  her  a 
good  cuddle  for  it ; "  and  she  took  the  Kafir  round  the 
neck,  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss,  and  made  the  little  boy 
kiss  her  too. 

At  this  moment  out  came  a  collie  dog,  hunting  Ucatella 
by  scent  alone,  which  process  landed  him  headlong  in 
the  group ;  he  gave  loud  barks  of  recognition,  fawned 
on  Phcebe  and  Dick,  smelt  poor  Christopher,  gave  a 
growl  of  suspicion,  and  lurked  about  squinting,  dissatis- 
fied, and  lowering  his  tail. 

"  Thou  art  wrong,  lad,  for  once,"  said  Dick ;  "  for  he's 
an  old  friend,  and  a  good  one." 

"  After  the  dog,  perhaps  some  Christian  will  come  to 
welcome  us,"  said  poor  Phoebe. 

Obedient  to  the  wish,  out  walked  Sophy,  the  English 
nurse,  a  scraggy  woman,  with  a  very  cocked  nose  and 
thin,  pinched  lips,  and  an  air  of  respectability  and  pert- 
ness  mingled.  She  dropped  a  short  courtesy,  shot  the 
glance  of  a  basilisk  at  Ucatella,  and  said  stiffly,  "  You 
are  welcome  home,  ma'am."  Then  she  took  the  little 
boy  as  one  having  authority.  Not  that  Phoebe  would 
have  surrendered  him ;  but  just  then  Mr.  Falcon  strolled 
out,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  Phoebe,  with  her 
heart  in  h^r  mouth,  flew  to   meet  him.     There  was  a 


A  SIMPLETON.  305 

rapturous  conjugal  embrace,  followed  by  mutual  in- 
quiries ;  and  the  wagon  drew  up  at  the  door.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  Falcon  observed  Staines,  saw  at  once  he 
was  a  gentleman,  and  touched  his  hat  to  him,  to  which 
Christopher  responded  in  kind,  and  remembered  he  had 
done  so  in  the  locked-up  past. 

Phoebe  instantly  drew  her  husband  apart  by  the  sleeve. 
"  Who  do  you  think  that  is  ?  You'll  never  guess.  'Tis 
the  great  doctor  that  saved  Dick's  life  in  England  with 
cutting  of  his  throat.  But,  oh,  my  dear,  he  is  not  the 
man  he  was.  He  is  afflicted.  Out  of  his  mind  partly. 
Well,  we  must  cure  him,  and  square  the  account  for  Dick. 
I'm  a  proud  woman  at  finding  him,  and  bringing  him 
here  to  make  him  all  right  again,  I  can  tell  you.  Oh,  I 
am  happy,  I  am  happy.  Little  did  I  think  to  be  so  happy 
as  I  am.  And,  my  dear,  I  have  brought  you  a  whole  sack- 
ful of  newspapers,  old  and  new." 

"  That  is  a  good  girl.  But  tell  me  a  little  more  about 
him.     What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Christie." 

''  Dr.  Christie  ?  " 

"  No  doubt.  He  wasn't  an  apothecary,  or  a  chemist, 
you  may  be  sure,  but  a  high  doctor,  and  the  cleverest 
ever  was  or  ever  will  be :  and  isn't  it  sad,  love,  to  see 
him  brought  down  so  ?  My  heart  yearns  for  the  poor 
man  :  and  then  his  wife  —  the  sweetest,  loveliest  creature 
you  ever  —  oh  ! "  Phoebe  stopped  very  short,  for  she 
remembered  something  all  of  a  sudden ;  nor  did  she  ever 
again  give  Falcon  a  chance  of  knowing  that  the  woman, 
whose  presence  had  so  disturbed  him,  was  this  very  Dr. 
Christie's  wife.  "  Curious  ! "  thought  she  to  lierself, 
*'  the  world  to  be  so  large,  and  yet  so  small :  "  then  aloud, 
"  They  are  unpacking  the  wagon  ;  come,  dear.  I  don't 
think  I  have  forgotten  anything  of  yours.  There's 
cigars,  and  tobacco,  and  powder,  and  shot,  and  bullets, 
20 


306  A  SIMPLETON. 

and  everything  to  make  you  comfortable,  as  my  duty 
'tis  ;  and  —  oh,  but  I'm  a  happy  woman." 

Hottentots,  big  and  little,  clustered  about  the  wagon. 
Treasure  after  treasure  was  delivered  with  cries  of 
delight;  the  dogs  found  out  it  was  a  joyful  time,  and 
barked  about  the  wheeled  treasury;  and  the  place  did 
not  quiet  down  till  sunset. 

A  plain  but  tidy  little  room  was  given  to  Christopher, 
and  he  slept  there  like  a  top.  Next  morning  his  nurse 
called  him  up  to  help  her  water  the  grass.  She  led  the 
way  with  a  tub  on  her  head  and  two  buckets  in  it.  She 
took  him  to  the  dam ;  when  she  got  there  she  took  out 
the  buckets,  left  one  on  the  bank,  and  gave  the  other  to 
Christie.  She  then  went  down  the  steps  till  the  water 
was  up  to  her  neck,  and  bade  Christie  fill  the  tub.  He 
poured  eight  bucketsful  in.  Then  she  came  slowly  out, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  balancing  this  tub  full  on  her  head. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hands  for  the  two  buckets.  Chris- 
tie filled  them,  wondering,  and  gave  them  to  her.  She 
took  them  like  toy  buckets,  and  glided  slowly  home  with 
this  enormous  weight,  and  never  spilled  a  drop.  Indeed, 
the  walk  was  more  smooth  and  noble  than  ever,  if  possible. 

When  she  reached  the  house,  she  hailed  a  Hottentot, 
and  it  cost  the  man  and  Christopher  a  great  effort  of 
strength  to  lower  her  tub  between  them. 

"  What  a  vertebral  column  you  must  have ! "  said 
Christopher. 

"  You  must  not  speak  bad  words,  my  child,"  said  she. 
"  Now,  you  water  the  grass  and  the  flowers."  She  gave 
him  a  watering-pot,  and  watched  him  maternally;  but 
did  not  put  a  hand  to  it.  She  evidently  considered  this 
part  of  the  business  as  child's  play,  and  not  a  fit  exercise 
of  her  powers. 

It  was  only  by  drowning  that  little  oasis  twice  a  day 
that  the  grass  was  kept  green  and  the  flowers  alive. 


A   SIMPLETON.  307 

She  found  him  other  jobs  in  course  of  the  day,  and 
indeed  he  was  always  helping  somebody  or  other,  and 
became  quite  ruddy,  bronzed,  and  plump  of  cheek,  and 
wore  a  strange  look  of  happiness,  except  at  times  when 
he  got  apart,  and  tried  to  recall  the  distant  past.  Then 
he  would  knit  his  brow,  and  looked  perplexed  and  sad. 

They  were  getting  quite  used  to  him,  and  he  to  them, 
when  one  day  he  did  not  come  in  to  dinner.  Phoebe  sent 
out  for  him ;  but  they  could  not  find  him. 

The  sun  set.  Phoebe  became  greatly  alarmed,  and 
even  Dick  was  anxious. 

They  all  turned  out,  with  guns  and  dogs,  and  hunted 
for  him  beneath  the  stars. 

Just  before  daybreak  Dick  Dale  saw  a  fire  sparkle  by 
the  side  of  a  distant  thicket.  He  went  to  it,  and  there 
was  Ucatella  seated,  calm  and  grand  as  antique  statue, 
and  Cliristopher  lying  by  her  side,  with  a  shawl  thrown 
over  him.  As  Dale  came  hurriedly  up,  she  put  her 
finger  to  her  lips,  and  said,  "  My  child  sleeps.  Do  not 
wake  him.  When  he  sleeps,  he  hunts  the  past,  as  Collie 
hunts  the  springbok." 

*'  Here's  a  go,"  said  Dick.  Then,  hearing  a  chuckle, 
he  looked  up,  and  was  aware  of  a  comical  appendage  to 
the  scene.  There  hung,  head  downwards,  from  a  branch, 
a  Kafir  boy,  who  was,  in  fact,  the  brother  of  the  stately 
Ucatella,  only  went  further  into  antiquity  for  his  models 
of  deportment ;  for,  as  she  imitated  the  antique  marbles, 
he  reproduced  the  habits  of  that  epoch  when  man  roosted, 
and  Avas  arboreal.  Wheel  somersaults,  and,  above  all, 
swinging  head  downwards  from  a  branch,  Avere  the 
sweeteners  of  his  existence. 

"  Oh !  yow  are  there,  are  you  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Iss,"  said  Ucatella.  "  Tim  good  boy.  Tim  found 
my  child." 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  he  has  chosen  a  nice  place.    This 


308  A  SIMPLETON. 

is  the  clump  the  last  lion  came  out  of,  at  least  they  say 
so.  For  my  part,  I  never  saw  an  African  lion ;  Falcon 
says  they've  all  took  ship,  and  gone  to  England.  How- 
ever, I  shall  stay  here  with  my  rifle  till  daybreak.  'Tis 
tempting  Providence  to  lie  down  on  the  skirt  of  a  wood 
for  Lord  knows  what  to  jump  out  on  ye  unawares." 

Tim  was  sent  home  for  Hottentots,  and  Christopher 
was  carried  home,  still  sleeping,  and  laid  on  his  own 
bed. 

He  slept  twenty-four  hours  more,  and,  when  he  was 
fairly  awake,  a  sort  of  mist  seemed  to  clear  away  in 
places,  and  he  remembered  things  at  random.  He 
remembered  being  at  sea  on  the  raft  with  the  dead  body ; 
that  picture  was  quite  vivid  to  him.  He  remembered, 
too,  being  in  the  hospital,  and  meeting  Phoebe,  and  every 
succeeding  incident ;  but  as  respected  the  more  distant 
past,  he  could  not  recall  it  by  any  effort  of  his  will.  His 
mind  could  only  go  into  that  remoter  past  by  material 
stepping-stones  ;  and  what  stepping-stones  he  had  about 
him  here  led  him  back  to  general  knowledge,  but  not  to 
his  private  history. 

In  this  condition  he  puzzled  them  all  strangely  at  the 
farm ;  his  mind  was  alternately  so  clear  and  so  obscure. 
He  would  chat  with  Phoebe,  and  sometimes  give  her  a 
good  practical  hint ;  but  the  next  moment,  helpless  for 
want  of  memory,  that  great  faculty  without  which  judg- 
ment cannot  act,  having  no  material. 

After  some  days  of  this,  he  had  another  great  sleep. 
It  brought  him  back  the  distant  past  in  chapters.  His 
wedding-day.  His  wife's  face  and  dress  upon  that  day. 
His  parting  with  her :  his  whole  voyage  out :  but,  strange 
to  say,  it  swept  away  one-half  of  that  which  he  had 
recovered  at  his  last  sleep,  and  he  no  longer  remembered 
clearly  how  he  came  to  be  at  Dale's  Kloof. 

Thus  his  mind  might  be  compared  to  one  climbing  a 


A  SBIPLETON.  309 

slippery  place,  who  gains  a  foot  or  two,  then  slips  back  ; 
but  on  the  whole  gains  more  than  he  loses. 

He  took  a  great  liking  to  Falcon.  That  gentleman 
had  the  art  of  pleasing,  and  the  tact  never  to  olfend. 

Falcon  affected  to  treat  the  poor  soul's  want  of  memory 
as  a  common  infirmity ;  pretended  he  was  himself  very 
often  troubled  in  the  same  way,  and  advised  him  to  read 
the  newspapers.  "  My  good  wife,"  said  he,  "  has  brought 
me  a  whole  file  of  the  Cape  Gazette.  I'd  read  them  if 
I  was  you.  The  deuce  is  in  it,  if  you  don't  rake  up 
something  or  other." 

Christopher  thanked  him  warmly  for  this  :  he  got  the 
papers  to  his  own  little  room,  and  had  always  one  or  two 
in  his  pocket  for  reading.  At  first  he  found  a  good  many 
hard  words  that  puzzled  him ;  and  he  borrowed  a  pencil 
of  Phoebe,  and  noted  them  down.  Strange  to  say,  the 
words  that  puzzled  him  were  always  common  words, 
that  his  unaccountable  memory  had  forgotten:  a  hard 
word,  he  was  sure  to  remember  that. 

One  day  he  had  to  ask  Falcon  the  meaning  of  "  spend- 
thrift." Falcon  told  him  briefly.  He  could  have  illus- 
trated the  word  by  a  striking  example ;  but  he  did  not. 
He  added,  in  his  polite  way,  "  No  fellow  can  understand 
all  the  words  in  a  newspaper.  Now,  here's  a  word  in 
mine  — '  Anemometer ; '  who  the  deuce  can  understand 
such  a  word  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  common  word  enough,"  said  poor 
Christopher.  "It  means  a  machine  for  measuring  the 
force  of  the  wind." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Falcon ;  but  did  not  believe  a  word 
of  it. 

One  sultry  day  Christopher  had  a  violent  headache, 
and  complained  to  Ucatella.  She  told  Phoebe,  and  they 
bound  his  brows  with  a  wet  handkerchief,  and  advised 
him  to  keep  in-doors.     He  sat  down  in  the  coolest  part 


310  A   SIMPLETON". 

of  the  house,  and  held  his  head  with  his  hands,  for  it 
seemed  as  if  it  would  explode  into  two  great  fragments. 

All  in  a  moment  the  sky  was  overcast  with  angry- 
clouds,  whirling  this  way  and  that.  Huge  drops  of  hail 
pattered  down,  and  the  next  minute  came  a  tremendous 
flash  of  lightning,  accompanied,  rather  than  followed, 
by  a  crash  of  thunder  close  over  their  heads. 

This  was  the  opening.  Down  came  a  deluge  out  of 
clouds  that  looked  mountains  of  j)itch,  and  made  the 
day  night  but  for  the  fast  and  furious  strokes  of  light- 
ning that  fired  the  air.  The  scream  of  wind  and  awful 
peals  of  thunder  completed  the  horrors  of  the  scene. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  by  what  agency  I  know  no  more 
than  science  or  a  sheep  does,  something  went  off  inside 
Christopher's  head,  like  a  pistol-shot.  He  gave  a  sort  of 
scream,  and  dashed  out  into  the  weather. 

Phoebe  heard  his  scream  and  his  flying  footstep,  and 
uttered  an  ejaculation  of  fear.  The  whole  household 
was  alarmed,  and,  under  other  circumstances,  would  have 
followed  him ;  but  you  could  not  see  ten  yards. 

A  chill  sense  of  impending  misfortune  settled  on  the 
house,  Phoebe  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
rocked  in  her  chair. 

Dick  himself  looked  very  grava 

Ucatella  would  have  tried  to  follow  him ;  but  Dick 
forbade  her.  "  'Tis  no  use,"  said  he.  "  When  it  clears, 
we  that  be  men  will  go  for  him." 

"  Pray  Heaven  you  may  find  him  alive  ! " 

"  I  don't  think  but  what  we  shall.  There's  nowhere 
he  can  fall  down  to  hurt  himself,  nor  yet  drown  himself, 
but  our  dam ;  and  he  has  not  gone  that  way.    But "  — 

"But  what?" 

"  If  we  do  find  him,  we  must  take  him  back  to  Cape 
Town,  before  he  does  himself,  or  some  one,  a  mischief. 
Wliy,  Phoebe,  don't  you  see  the  man  has  gone  raving 
mad?" 


A   SIMPLETON.  311 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  electrified  man  rushed  out  into  the  storm,  but  he 
scarcely  felt  it  in  his  body  ;  the  effect  on  his  mind  over- 
powered hail-stones.  The  lightning  seemed  to  light  up 
the  past ;  the  mighty  explosions  of  thunder  seemed 
cannon  strokes  knocking  down  a  wall,  and  letting  in  his 
Avhole  life. 

Six  hours  the  storm  raged,  and,  before  it  ended,  he 
had  recovered  nearly  his  whole  past,  except  his  voyage 
with  Captain  Dodd  —  that,  indeed,  he  never  recovered  — 
and  the  things  that  happened  to  him  in  the  hospital 
before  he  met  Phoebe  Falcon  and  her  brother:  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  his  lost  memory,  his  body  began 
to  shiver  at  the  hail  and  rain.  He  tried  to  find  his  way 
home,  but  missed  it ;  not  so  much,  however,  but  that  he 
recovered  it  as  soon  as  it  began  to  clear,  and  just  as  they 
were  coming  out  to  look  for  him,  he  appeared  before 
them,  dripping,  shivering,  very  pale  and  worn,  with  the 
handkerchief  still  about  his  head. 

At  sight  of  him,  Dick  slipped  back  to  his  sister,  and 
said,  rather  roughly,  "  There  now,  you  may  leave  off  cry- 
ing :  he  is  come  home ;  and  to-morrow  I  take  him  to 
Cape  Town." 

Christopher  crept  in,  a  dismal,  sinister  figure. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Phoebe,  "  was  this  a  day  for  a  Christian 
to  be  out  in  ?     How  could  you  go  and  frighten  us  so  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  madam,"  said  Christopher  humbly ;  "  I 
was  not  myself." 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do  now  is  to  go  to  bed,  and 
let  us  send  you  up  something  warm." 


312  A  SIMPLETOlsr. 

*'  You  are  very  good,"  said  Christoplier,  aud  retired 
with  the  air  of  one  too  full  of  great  amazing  thoughts 
to  gossip. 

He  slept  thirty  hovirs  at  a  stretch,  and  then,  awaking 
in  the  dead  of  night,  he  saw  the  past  even  more  clear  and 
vivid ;  he  lighted  his  candle  and  began  to  grope  in  the 
Cape  Gazette.  As  to  dates,  he  now  remembered  when 
he  had  sailed  from  England,  and  also  from  Madeira. 
Following  up  this  clew,  he  found  in  the  Gazette  a  notice 
that  H.  M.  ship  Amphitrite  had  been  spoken  off  the 
Cape,  and  had  reported  the  melancholy  loss  of  a  prom- 
ising physician  and  man  of  science.  Dr.  Staines. 

The  account  said  every  exertion  had  been  made  to 
save  him,  but  in  vain. 

Staines  ground  his  teeth  with  rage  at  this.  "  Every 
exertion !  the  false-hearted  curs.  They  left  me  to  drov/n, 
without  one  manly  effort  to  save  me.  Curse  them,  and 
curse  all  the  world." 

Pursuing  his  researches  rapidly,  he  found  a  much 
longer  account  of  a  raft  picked  up  by  Captain  Dodd, 
with  a  white  man  on  it  and  a  dead  body,  the  white  man 
having  on  him  a  considerable  sum  in  money  and  jewels. 

Then  a  new  anxiety  chilled  him.  There  was  not  a 
word  to  identify  him  with  Dr.  Staines.  The  idea  had 
never  occurred  to  the  editor  of  the  Cape  Gazette.  Still 
less  would  it  occur  to  any  one  in  England.  At  this 
moment  his  wife  must  be  mourning  for  him.  "  Poor  — 
poor  Rosa ! " 

But  perhaps  the  fatal  news  might  not  have  reached 
her. 

That  hope  was  dashed  away  as  soon  as  found.  Why. 
these  were  all  old  newspajMvs.  That  gentlemanly  man 
who  had  lent  them  to  him  had  said  so. 

Old  !  yet  they  completed  the  year  1867. 

He  now  tore  through  them  for  the  dates  alone,  and 


A  SIMPLETON.  313 

soon  found  they  went  to  1868.     Yet  they  were  old  papers. 
He  had  sailed  in  May,  1867. 

''  My  God ! "   he   cried,  in   agony,   "  I   ha\'t;   lost   a 

YEAR." 

This  thought  crushed  him.  By  and  by  he  began  to 
carry  this  awful  idea  into  details.  "  My  Rosa  has  worn 
mourning  for  me,  and  put  it  off  again.  I  am  dead  to 
her,  and  to  all  the  world." 

He  wept  long  and  bitterly. 

Those  tears  cleared  his  brain  still  more.  For  all  that, 
he  was  not  yet  himself ;  at  least,  I  doubt  it ;  his  insanity, 
driven  from  the  intellect,  fastened  one  lingering  claw 
into  his  moral  nature,  and  hung  on  by  it.  His  soul  filled 
with  bitterness  and  a  desire  to  be  revenged  on  mankind 
for  their  injustice,  and  this  thought  possessed  hira  more 
than  reason. 

He  joined  the  family  at  breakfast ;  and  never  a  word 
all  the  time.  But  when  he  got  up  to  go,  he  said,  in  a 
strange,  dogged  way,  as  if  it  went  against  the  grain, 
"  God  bless  the  house  that  succors  the  af&icted."  Then 
he  went  out  to  brood  alone. 

"Dick,"  said  Phoebe,  "there's  a  change.  I'll  never 
part  with  him  :  and  look,  there's  Collie  following  him, 
that  never  could  abide  him." 

"  Part  with  him  ?  "  said  Reginald.  "  Of  course  not. 
He  is  a  gentleman,  and  they  are  not  so  common  in 
Africa." 

Dick,  who  hated  Falcon,  ignored  this  speech  entirely, 
and  said,  "  Well,  Pheeb,  you  and  Collie  are  wiser  than  I 
am.  Take  your  OAvn  way,  and  don't  blame  me  if  any- 
thing happens." 

Soon  Christopher  paid  the  penalty  of  returning  reason. 
He  suffered  all  the  poignant  agony  a  great  heart  can 
endure. 

So  this  was  his  reward  for  his  great  act  of  self-denial 


314  A  SIMPLETON. 

in  leaving  his  beloved  wife.  He  had  lost  his  patient; 
he  had  lost  the  income  from  that  patient;  his  wife  was 
worse  off  than  before,  and  had  doubtless  suffered  the 
anguish  of  a  loving  heg-rt  bereaved.  His  mind,  which 
now  seemed  more  vigorous  than  ever,  after  its  long  rest, 
placed  her  before  his  very  eyes,  pale,  and  worn  with 
grief,  in  her  widow's  cap. 

At  the  picture,  he  cried  like  the  rain.  He  could  give 
her  joy,  by  writing ;  but  he  could  not  prevent  her  from 
suffering  a  whole  year  of  misery. 

Turning  this  over  in  connection  with  their  poverty, 
his  evil  genius  whispered,  "By  this  time  she  has -re- 
ceived the  six  thousand  pounds  for  your  death.  She 
would  never  think  of  that ;  but  her  father  has  :  and 
there  is  her  comfort  assured,  in  spite  of  the  caitiffs  who 
left  her  husband  to  drown  like  a  dog." 

"  I  know  my  Eosa,"  he  thought.  "  She  has  swooned 
—  ah,  my  poor  darling  —  she  has  raved  —  she  has  wept," 
he  wept  himself  at  the  thought  — "  she  has  mourned 
every  indiscreet  act,  as  if  it  was  a  crime.  But  she  has 
done  all  this.  Her  good  and  loving  but  shallow  nature 
is  now  at  rest  from  the  agonies  of  bereavement,  and 
nought  remains  but  sad  and  tender  regrets.  She  can 
better  endure  that  than  poverty :  cursed  poverty,  which 
has  brought  her  and  me  to  this,  and  is  the  only  real  evil 
in  the  world,  but  bodily  pain." 

Then  came  a  struggle,  that  lasted  a  whole  week,  and 
knitted  his  brows,  and  took  the  color  from  his  cheek; 
but  it  ended  in  the  triumph  of  love  and  hate,  over  con- 
science and  common  sense.  His  Eosa  should  not  be 
poor ;  and  he  woiild  cheat  some  of  those  contemptible 
creatures  called  men,  who  had  done  him  nothing  but  in- 
justice, and  at  last  had  sacrificed  his  life  like  a  rat's. 

When  the  struggle  was  over,  and  the  fatal  resolution 
taken,  then  he  became  calmer,  less  solitary,  and  more 
sociable. 


A  SEVIPLETON.  315 

Phcebe,  who  was  secretly  watching  him  with  a  woman's 
eye,  observed  this  change  in  him,  and,  with  benevolent 
intentions,  invited  him  one  day  to  ride  round  the  farm 
with  her.  He  consented  readily.  She  showed  him  the 
fields  devoted  to  maize  and  wheat,  and  then  the  sheep- 
folds.  Tim's  sheep  were  apparently  deserted;  but  he 
was  discovered  swinging  head  downwards  from  the  branch 
of  a  camel-thorn,  and  seeing  him,  it  did  strike  one  that 
if  he  had  had  a  tail  he  would  have  been  swinging  by 
that.  Phoebe  called  to  him  :  he  never  answered,  but  set 
off  running  to  her,  and  landed  himself  under  her  nose 
in  a  wheel  somersault. 

"I  hope  you  are  watching  them,  Tim,"  said  his  mis- 
tress. 

"  Iss,  missy,  always  washing  'em." 

"  Why,  there's  one  straying  towards  the  wood  now." 

"  He  not  go  far,"  said  Tim  coolly.  The  young  monkey 
stole  off  a  little  way,  then  fell  flat,  and  uttered  the  cry 
of  a  jackal,  with  startling  precision.  Back  went  the 
sheep  to  his  comrades  post  haste,  and  Tim  effected  a 
somersault  and  a  chuckle. 

"  You  are  a  clever  boy,"  said  Phcebe.  "  So  that  is  how 
you  manage  them." 

"  Dat  one  way,  miss}',"  said  Tim,  not  caring  to  reveal 
all  his  resources  at  once. 

Then  Phoebe  rode  on,  and  showed  Christopher  the 
ostrich  pan.  It  was  a  large  basin,  a  form  the  soil  often 
takes  in  these  parts ;  and  in  it  strutted  several  full- 
grown  ostriches  and  their  young,  bred  on  the  premises. 
There  was  a  little  dam  of  water,  and  plenty  of  food 
about.  They  were  herded  by  a  Kafir  infant  of  about 
six,  black,  glossy,  fat,  and  clean,  being  in  the  water  six 
times  a  day. 

Sometimes  one  of  the  older  birds  would  show  an  incli- 
nation to  stray  out  of  the  pan.     Then  the  infant  rolled 


316  A  SIMPLETON. 

after  lier,  and  tapped  her  ankles  with  a  Avand.  She  in- 
stantly came  back,  but  without  any  loss  of  dignity,  for 
she  strutted  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  affecting  com- 
pletely to  ignore  the  inferior  little  animal,  that  was 
nevertheless  controlling  her  movements.  "There's  a 
farce,"  said  Phoebe.  "But  you  would  not  believe  the 
money  they  cost  me,  nor  the  money  they  bring  me  in. 
Grain  will  not  sell  here  for  a  quarter  its  value :  and  we 
can't  afford  to  send  it  to  Cape  Town,  twenty  days  and 
back ;  but  finery,  that  sells  everywhere.  I  gather  sixty 
pounds  the  year  off  those  poor  fowls'  backs — clear 
profit." 

She  showed  him  the  granary,  and  told  him  there  wasn't 
such  another  in  Africa.  This  farm  had  belonged  to  one 
of  the  old  Dutch  settlers,  and  that  breed  had  been  going 
down  this  many  a  year.  "  You  see,  sir,  Dick  and  I 
being  English,  and  not  downright  in  want  of  money,  we 
can't  bring  ourselves  to  sell  grain  to  the  middlemen  for 
nothing,  so  we  store  it,  hoping  for  better  times,  that 
maybe  will  never  come.  Now  I'll  show  you  how  the 
dam  is  made." 

They  inspected  the  dam  all  round.  "  This  is  our  best 
friend  of  all,"  said  she.  "  Without  this  the  sun  would 
turn  us  all  to  tinder,  —  crops,  flowers,  beasts,  and  folk." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Staines.  "Then  it  is  a  pity  you 
have  not  built  it  more  scientifically.  I  must  have  a  look 
at  this." 

"  Ay  do,  sir,  and  advise  us  if  you  see  anything  wrong. 
But  hark  !  it  is  milking  time.  Come  and  see  that."  So 
she  led  the  way  to  some  sheds,  and  there  they  found  sev- 
eral cows  being  milked,  each  by  a  little  calf  and  a  little 
Hottentot  at  the  same  time,  and  both  fighting  and  jos- 
tling each  other  for  the  udder.  Now  and  then  a  young 
cow,  unused  to  incongruous  twins,  would  kick  impatiently 
at  both  animals  and  scatter  them. 


A  SIMPLETON".  S17 

"  That  is  their  way,"  said  Phoebe  :  "  they  have  got  it 
into  their  silly  Hottentot  heads  as  kye  won't  yield  their 
milk  if  the  calf  is  taken  away ;  and  it  is  no  use  arguing 
with  'em ;  they  will  have  their  own  way ;  but  they  are 
very  trusty  and  honest,  poor  things.  We  soon  found 
that  out.  When  we  came  here  first  it  was  in  a  hired 
wagon,  and  Hottentot  drivers :  so  when  we  came  to 
settle  I  made  ready  for  a  bit  of  a  wrangle.  But  my  maid 
Sophy,  that  is  nurse  now,  and  a  great  despiser  of  heath- 
ens, she  says,  *  Don't  you  trouble ;  them  nasty  ignorant 
blacks  never  charges  more  than  their  due.'  *I  for- 
give 'em,'  says  I ;  'I  wish  all  white  folk  was  as  nice.' 
However,  I  did  give  them  a  trifle  over,  for  luck:  and 
then  they  got  together  and  chattered  something  near  the 
door,  hand  in  hand.  '  La,  Sophy,'  says  I,  '  what  is  up 
now  ? '  Says  she,  '  They  are  blessing  of  us.  Things  is 
come  to  a  pretty  pass,  for  ignorant  Muslinmen  heathen 
to  be  blessing  Christian  folk.'  *  Well,'  says  I,  '  it  Avon't 
hurt  us  any.'  '  I  don't  know,'  says  she.  '  I  don't  want 
the  devil  prayed  over  me.'  So  she  cocked  that  long  nose 
of  hers  and  followed  it  in  a  doors." 

By  this  time  they  were  near  the  house,  and  Phoebe 
was  obliged  to  come  to  her  postscript,  for  the  sake  of 
which,  believe  me,  she  had  uttered  every  syllable  of  this 
varied  chat.  "  Well,  sir,"  said  she,  affecting  to  proceed 
without  any  considerable  change  of  topic,  "and  how  do 
you  find  yourself  ?     Have  you  discovered  the  past  ?  " 

"  I  have,  madam.  I  remember  every  leading  incident 
of  my  life." 

"  And  has  it  made  you  happier  ?  "  said  Phoebe  softly. 

"  No,"  said  Christopher  gravely.  "  Memory  has  brought 
me  misery." 

"  I  feared  as  much ;  for  you  have  lost  your  fine  color, 
and  your  eyes  are  hollow,  and  lines  on  your  poor  brow 
that  were  not  there  before.  Are  you  not  sorry  you  have 
discovered  the  past  ?  '* 


318  A  SIMPLETON. 

"'No,  Mrs.  Falcon.  Give  me  the  sovereign  gift  of 
reason,  with,  all  the  torture  it  can  inflict.  I  thank  God 
for  returning  memory,  even  with  the  misery  it  brings." 

Phoebe  was  silent  a  long  time :  then  she  said  in  a  low, 
gentle  voice,  and  with  the  indirectness  of  a  truly  femi- 
nine nature,  "I  have  plenty  of  writing-paper  in  the 
house ;  and  the  post  goes  south  to-morrow,  such  as  'tis." 

Christopher  struggled  with  his  misery,  and  trembled. 

He  was  silent  a  long  time.  Then  he  said,  "Xo.  It 
is  her  interest  that  I  should  be  dead." 

"Well,  but,  sir  — take  a  thought." 

"Not  a  word  more,  I  implore  you.  I  am  the  most 
miserable  man  that  ever  breathed."  As  he  spoke,  two 
bitter  tears  forced  their  way. 

Phoebe  cast  a  look  of  pity  on  him,  and  said  no  more  ; 
but  she  shook  her  head.  Her  plain  common  sense 
revolted. 

However,  it  did  not  follow  he  would  be  in  the  same 
mind  next  Aveek :  so  she  was  in  excellent  spirits  at  her 
protege's  recovery,  and  very  proud  of  her  cure,  and  cele- 
brated the  event  with  a  roaring  supper,  including  an 
English  ham,  and  a  bottle  of  port  wine ;  and,  ten  to  one, 
that  was  English  too. 

Dick  Dale  looked  a  little  incredulous,  but  he  did  not 
spare  the  ham  any  the  more  for  that. 

After  supper,  in  a  pause  of  conversation,  Staines 
turned  to  Dick,  and  said,  rather  abruptly,  "  Su2:)pose  that 
dam  of  yours  were  to  burst  and  empty  its  contents, 
would  it  not  be  a  great  misfortune  to  you  ?  " 

"  Misfortune,  sir !  Don't  talk  of  it.  Why,  it  would 
ruin  us,  beast  and  body." 

"  Well,  it  will  burst,  if  it  is  not  looked  to." 

"  Dale's  Kloof  dam  burst !  the  biggest  and  strongest 
for  a  hundred  miles  round." 

"  You  deceive  yourself.     It  is  not  scientifically  built, 


A  SIMPLETON.  319 

to  begin,  and  there  is  a  cause  at  work  tliat  will  infallibly 
burst  it,  if  not  looked  to  in  time." 

"And  what  is  that,  sir?" 

"  The  dam  is  full  of  crabs." 

"  So  'tis ;  but  what  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  detected  two  of  them  that  had  perforated  the  dyke 
from  the  wet  side  to  the  dry,  and  water  was  trickling 
through  the  channel  they  had  made.  Noav,  for  me  to 
catch  tAvo  that  had  come  right  through,  there  must  be  a 
great  many  at  work  honeycombing  your  dyke ;  those 
channels,  once  made,  will  be  enlarged  by  the  permeating 
water,  and  a  mere  cupful  of  water  forced  into  a  dyke  by 
the  great  pressure  of  a  heavy  column  has  an  expansive 
power  quite  out  of  proportion  to  the  quantity  forced  in. 
Colossal  dykes  have  been  burst  in  this  way  with  dis- 
astrous effects.  Indeed,  it  is  only  a  question  of  time, 
and  I  would  not  guarantee  your  dyke  twelve  hours.  It 
is  full,  too,  with  the  heavy  rains." 

"  Here's  a  go  ! "  said  Dick,  turning  pale.  "  Well,  if  it 
is  to  burst,  it  must." 

"  Why  so  ?  You  can  make  it  safe  in  a  few  hours. 
You  have  got  a  clumsy  contrivance  for  letting  off  the 
excess  of  water :  let  us  go  and  relieve  the  dam  at  once 
of  two  feet  of  water.  That  will  make  it  safe  for  a  day 
or  two,  and  to-morrow  we  will  puddle  it  afresh,  and 
demolish  those  busy  excavators." 

He  spoke  with  such  authority  and  earnestness,  that 
they  all  got  up  from  table  ;  a  horn  was  blown  that  soon 
brought  the  Hottentots,  and  they  all  proceeded  to  the 
dam.  With  infinite  difficulty  they  opened  the  waste 
sluice,  lowered  the  water  two  feet,  and  so  drenched  the 
arid  soil  that  in  forty-eight  hours  flowers  unknown 
sprang  up. 

Next  morning,  under  the  doctor's  orders,  all  the  black 
men  and  boys  were  diving  with  lumps  of  stiff  clay  and 


320  A  SIMPLETON. 

puddling  the  endangered  wall  with  a  thick  wall  of  it. 
This  took  all  the  people  the  whole  day. 

Next  day  the  clay  wall  was  carried  two  feet  higher, 
and  then  the  doctor  made  them  work  on  the  other  side 
and  buttress  the  dyke  with  supports  so  enormous  as 
seemed  extravagant  to  Dick  and  Phoebe ;  but,  after  all, 
it  was  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  they  thought :  and 
soon  they  were  sure  of  it,  for  the  whole  work  was  hardly 
finished  when  the  news  came  in  that  the  dyke  of  a 
7:ieighboring  Boer,  ten  miles  off,  had  exploded  like  a 
cannon,  and  emptied  itself  in  five  minutes,  drowning 
the  farm-yard  and  floating  the  furniture,  but  leaving 
them  all  to  perish  of  drought;  and  indeed  the  Boer's 
cart  came  every  day,  with  empty  barrels,  for  some  time, 
to  beg  water  of  the  Dales.  Ucatella  pondered  all  this, 
and  said  her  doctor  child  was  wise. 

This  brief  excitement  over,  Staines  went  back  to  his 
own  gloomy  thoughts,  and  they  scarcely  saw  him,  except 
at  supper-tiine. 

One  evening  he  surprised  them  all  by  asking  if  they 
would  add  to  all  their  kindness  by  lending  him  a  horse, 
and  a  spade,  and  a  few  pounds  to  go  to  the  diamond 
fields. 

Dick  Dale  looked  at  his  sister.  She  said,  "We  had 
rather  lend  them  you  to  go  home  with,  sir,  if  you  must 
leave  us ;  but,  dear  heart,  I  was  half  in  hopes  —  Dick 
and  I  were  talking  it  over  only  yesterday  —  that  you 
would  go  partners  like  with  us ;  ever  since  you  saved  the 
dam." 

"  I  have  too  little  to  offer  for  that,  Mrs.  Falcon ;  and, 
besides,  I  am  driven  into  a  corner.  I  must  make  money 
quickly,  or  not  at  all :  the  diamonds  are  only  three  hun- 
dred miles  off :  for  heaven's  sake,  let  me  try  my  luck." 

They  tried  to  dissuade  him,  and  told  him  not  one  in 
fifty  did  any  good  at  it. 


A  SEMPLETON.  321 

"  Ay,  but  /  shall,"  said  he.  "  Great  bad  luck  is  f oL 
lowed  by  great  good  luck,  and  I  feel  my  turn  is  come. 
Not  that  I  rely  on  luck.  An  accident  directed  my  at- 
tention to  the  diamond  a  few  years  ago,  and  I  read  a 
number  of  prime  works  upon  the  subject  that  told  me  of 
things  not  known  to  the  miners.  It  is  clear,  from  the 
Cape  journals,  that  they  are  looking  for  diamonds  in  the 
river  only.  Now,  I  am  sure  that  is  a  mistake.  Dia- 
monds, like  gold,  have  their  matrix,  and  it  is  compara- 
tively few  gems  that  get  washed  into  the  river.  I  am 
confident  that  I  shall  find  the  volcanic  matrix,  and  per- 
haps make  iny  fortune  in  a  week  or  two." 

When  the  dialogue  took  this  turn,  Reginald  Falcon's 
cheek  began  to  flush,  and  his  eyes  to  glitter. 

Christopher  continued :  "  You  who  have  befriended  me 
so  will  not  turn  back,  I  am  sure,  when  I  have  such  a 
chance  before  me ;  and  as  for  the  small  sum  of  money  I 
shall  require,  I  will  repay  you  some  day,  even  if  "  — 

"  La,  sir,  don't  talk  so.  If  you  put  it  that  way,  why, 
the  best  horse  we  have,  and  fifty  pounds  in  good  English 
gold,  they  are  at  your  service  to-morrow." 

"  And  pick  and  spade  to  boot,"  said  Dick,  "  and  a 
double  rifle,  for  there  are  lions,  and  Lord  knows  what, 
between  this  and  the  Vaal  river." 

"  God  bless  you  both ! "  said  Christopher.  "  I  will 
start  to-morrow." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Reginald  Falcon. 

21 


322  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Heaven  forbid ! "  said  Phoebe.  "  No,  my  dear,  no 
niorc  diamonds  for  us.  We  never  had  but  one,  and  it 
brouglit  us  trouble." 

"  Nonsense,  Phoebe,"  replied  Palcon ;  "  it  was  not  the 
diamond's  fault.  You  know  I  have  often  wanted  to  go 
there,  but  you  objected.  You  said  you  were  afraid  some 
evil  would  befall  me.  But  now  Solomon  himself  is  going 
to  the  mines,  let  us  have  no  more  of  that  nonsense.  We 
will  take  our  rifles  and  our  pistols." 

*' There  —  there  —  rifles  and  pistols,"  cried  Phoebe; 
"that  shows." 

"  And  we  will  be  there  in  a  week  ;  stay  a  month,  and 
home  with  our  pockets  full  of  diamonds." 

"  And  find  me  dead  of  a  broken  heart." 

"Broken  fiddlestick!  We  have  been  parted  longei 
than  that,  and  yet  here  we  are  all  right." 

"  Ay,  but  the  pitcher  that  goes  too  often  to  the  well 
gets  broke  at  last.  No,  Eeginald,  now  I  have  tasted 
three  years'  happiness  and  peace  of  mind,  I  cannot  go 
through  what  I  used  in  England.  Oh,  doctor !  have  you 
the  heart  to  part  man  and  wife,  that  have  never  been  a 
day  from  each  other  all  these  years  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Falcon,  I  would  not  do  it  for  all  the  diamonds 
in  Brazil.  No,  Mr.  Falcon,  I  need  hardly  say  how 
charmed  I  should  be  to  have  your  company :  but  that 
is  a  pleasure  I  shall  certainly  deny  myself,  after  what 
your  good  wife  has  said.  I  owe  her  too  much  to  cause 
her  a  single  pang." 

"Doctor,"  said  the  charming  Reginald,  "you  are  a 


A   SIMPLETON.  323 

gentleman  and  side  with  tlie  lady.  Quite  right.  It  adds 
to  my  esteem,  if  possible.  Make  your  mind  easy ;  I  will 
go  alone.  I  am  not  a  farmer.  I  am  dead  sick  of  this 
monotonous  life ;  and,  since  I  am  compelled  to  speak  my 
mind,  a  little  ashamed,  as  a  gentleman,  of  living  on  my 
Avife  and  her  brother,  and  doing  nothing  for  myself.  So 
I  shall  go  to  the  Vaal  river,  and  see  a  little  life ;  here 
there's  nothing  but  vegetation  —  and  not  much  of  that. 
Not  a  word  more,  Phoebe,  if  you  please.  I  am  a  good, 
easy,  affectionate  husband,  but  I  am  a  man,  and  not  a 
child  to  be  tied  to  a  woman's  apron-strings,  however 
much  I  may  love  and  respect  her." 

Dick  put  in  his  word :  "  Since  you  are  so  independent, 
you  can  walk  to  the  Vaal  river.  I  can't  spare  a  couple 
of  horses." 

This  hit  the  sybarite  hard,  and  he  cast  a  bitter  glance 
of  hatred  at  his  brother-in-law,  and  fell  into  a  moody 
silence. 

But  when  he  got  Phoebe  to  himself,  he  descanted  on 
her  selfishness,  Dick's  rudeness,  and  his  own  wounded 
dignity,  till  he  made  her  quite  anxious  he  should  have 
his  own  way.  She  came  to  Staines,  with  red  eyes,  and 
said,  "Tell  me,  doctor,  will  there  be  any  women  up  there 

—  to  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  petticoat  in  the  place,  I  believe.  It  is  a  very 
rough  life ;  and  how  Falcon  could  think  of  leaving  you 
and  sweet  little  Tommy,  and  tliis  life  of  health,  and 
peace,  and  comfort  —  " 

"  Yet  you  do  leave  us,  sir." 

"  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  man  upon  the  earth ; 
Falcon  is  one  of  the  happiest.  Would  I  leave  wife  and 
child  to  go  there  ?  Ah  me  !  I  am  dead  to  those  I  love. 
This  is  my  one  chance  of  seeing  my  darling  again  for 
many  a  long  year  perhaps.     Oh,  I  must  not  speak  of  her 

—  it  unmans  me.     My  good,  kind  friend,  I'll  tell  you 


324  A   SIMPLETON. 

what  to  do.  Wlien  we  are  all  at  supper,  let  a  horse  be 
saddled  and  left  in  the  yard  for  me.  I'll  bid  you  all 
good-night,  and  I'll  put  fifty  miles  between  us  before 
morning.  Even  then  he  need  not  be  told  I  am  gone ;  he 
will  not  follow  me." 

"  You  are  very  good,  sir,"  said  Phoebe ;  "  but  no.  Too 
much  has  been  said.  I  can't  have  him  humbled  by  my 
brother,  nor  any  one.  He  says  I  am  selfish.  Perhaps  I 
am ;  though  I  never  was  called  so.  I  can't  bear  he  should 
think  me  selfish.  He  ivill  go,  and  so  let  us  have  no  ill 
blood  about  it.  Since  he  is  to  go,  of  course  I'd  much 
liever  he  should  go  with  you  than  by  himself.  You  are 
sure  there  are  no  women  up  there  —  to  take  care  of  — 
you  —  both  ?  You  must  be  purse-bearer,  sir,  and  look 
to  every  penny.  He  is  too  generous  when  he  has  got 
money  to  spend." 

In  short,  Reginald  had  played  so  upon  her  heart,  that 
she  now  urged  the  joint  expedition,  only  she  asked  a 
delay  of  a  day  or  two  to  equip  them,  and  steel  herself  to 
the  separation. 

Staines  did  not  share  those  vague  fears  that  overpow- 
ered the  wife,  whose  bitter  experiences  were  unknown  to 
him ;  but  he  felt  uncomfortable  at  her  condition  —  for 
now  she  was  often  in  tears  —  and  he  said  all  he  could  to 
comfort  her ;  and  he  also  advised  her  how  to  profit  by 
these  terrible  diamonds,  in  her  way.  He  pointed  out  to 
her  that  her  farm  lay  right  in  the  road  to  the  diamonds, 
yet  the  traffic  all  shunned  her,  passing  twenty  miles  to 
the  westward.  Said  he,  "  You  should  profit  by  all  your 
resources.  You  have  wood,  a  great  rarity  in  Africa; 
order  a  portable  forge ;  run  up  a  building  where  miners 
can  sleep,  another  where  they  can  feed;  the  grain  you 
have  so  wisely  refused  to  sell,  grind  it  into  flour." 

"  Dear  heart !  why,  there's  neither  wind  nor  water  to 
turn  a  mill." 


A  SIMPLETON.  325 

"But  there  are  oxen.  I'll  show  you  how  to  make  an 
ox-mill.  Send  your  Cape  cart  into  Cape  Town  for  iron 
lathes,  for  coffee  and  tea,  and  groceries  by  the  hundred- 
weight. The  moment  you  are  ready — for  success  depends 
on  the  order  in  which  we  act — then  prepare  great  boards, 
and  plant  them  twenty  miles  south.  Write  or  paint  on 
them,  very  large, '  The  nearest  way  to  the  Diamond  Mines, 
through  Dale's  Kloof,  where  is  excellent  accommodation 
for  man  and  beast.  Tea,  coffee,  home-made  bread,  fresh 
butter,  etc.,  etc'  Do  this,  and  you  will  soon  leave  off 
decrying  diamonds.  This  is  the  sure  way  to  coin  them. 
I  myself  take  the  doubtful  way ;  but  I  can't  help  it.  I 
am  a  dead  man,  and  swift  good  fortune  will  give  me  life. 
You  can  afford  to  go  the  slower  road  and  the  surer." 

Then  he  drew  her  a  model  of  an  ox-mill,  and  of  a 
miner's  dormitory,  the  partitions  six  feet  six  apart,  so 
that  these  very  partitions  formed  the  bedstead,  the  bed- 
sacking  being  hooked  to  the  uprights.  He  drew  his 
model  for  twenty  bedrooms. 

The  portable  forge  and  the  ox-mill  pleased  Dick  Dale 
most,  but  the  partitioned  bedsteads  charmed  Phoebe. 
She  said,  "  Oh,  doctor,  how  can  one  man's  head  hold  so 
many  things  ?  If  there's  a  man  on  earth  I  can  trust  my 
husband  with,  'tis  you.  But  if  things  go  cross  up  there, 
promise  me  you  will  come  back  at  once  and  cast  in  your 
lot  with  us.  We  have  got  money  and  stock,  and  you 
have  got  headpiece;  we  might  do  very  well  together. 
Indeed,  indeed  we  might.  Promise  me.  Oh,  do,  please, 
promise  me  ! " 

"I  promise  you." 

And  on  this  understanding,  Staines  and  Falcon  were 
equipped  with  rifles,  pickaxe,  shovels,  waterproofs,  and 
full  saddle-bags,  and  started,  with  many  shakings  of  the 
hand,  and  many  teai'S  from  Phoebe,  for  tlie  diamond 
washings. 


326  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Phcebe's  tears  at  parting  made  Staines  feel  uncomfort- 
able, and  lie  said  so. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  ! "  said  Falcon,  "  crying  for  nothing  does 
a  woman  good." 

Christopher  stared  at  him. 

Falcon's  spirits  rose  as  they  proceeded.  He  was  like 
a  boy  let  loose  from  school.  His  fluency  and  charm  of 
manner  served,  however,  to  cheer  a  singularly  dreary 
journey. 

The  travellers  soon  entered  on  a  vast  and  forbidding 
region,  that  wearied  the  eye ;  at  their  feet  a  dull,  rusty 
carpet  of  dried  grass  and  wild  camomile,  with  pale-red 
sand  peeping  through  the  burnt  and  scanty  herbage. 
On  the  low  mounds,  that  looked  like  heaps  of  sifted 
ashes,  struggled  now  and  then  into  sickliness  a  ragged, 
twisted  shrub.  There  were  flowers  too,  but  so  sparse, 
that  they  sparkled  vainly  in  the  colorless  waste,  which 
stretched  to  the  horizon.  The  farmhouses  were  twenty 
miles  apart,  and  nine  out  of  ten  of  them  were  new  ones 
built  by  the  Boers  since  they  degenerated  into  white  sav- 
ages :  mere  huts,  with  domed  kitchens  behind  them.  In 
the  dwelling-house  the  whole  family  pigged  together,  with 
raw  flesh  drying  on  the  rafters,  stinking  skins  in  a  corner, 
parasitical  vermin  of  all  sorts  blackening  the  floor,  and 
particularly  a  small,  biting,  and  odoriferous  tortoise,  com- 
pared with  which  the  insect  a  London  washerwoman 
brings  into  your  house  in  her  basket,  is  a  stroke  with  a 
feather  —  and  all  this  without  the  excuse  of  penury ;  for 
many  of  these  were  shepherd  kings,  sheared  four  thou- 


A   SIMPLETON.  327 

sand  fleeces  a  year,  and  owned  a  hundred  horses  and 
horned  cattle. 

These  Boers  are  compelled,  by  unwritten  law,  to  receive 
travellers  and  water  their  cattle ;  but  our  travellers,  after 
one  or  two  experiences,  ceased  to  trouble  them ;  for, 
added  to  the  dirt,  the  men  were  sullen,  the  women  moody, 
silent,  brainless ;  the  whole  reception  churlish.  Staines 
detected  in  them  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  they  had 
descended,  in  more  ways  than  one,  from  a  civilized  race ; 
and  the  superior  bearing  of  a  European  seemed  to  remind 
them  Avliat  they  had  been,  and  might  have  been,  and  were 
not ;  so,  after  an  attempt  or  two,  our  adventurers  avoided 
the  Boers,  and  tried  the  Kafirs.  They  found  the  savages 
socially  superior,  though  their  moral  character  does  not 
rank  high. 

The  Kafir  cabins  they  entered  were  caves,  lighted  only 
by  the  door,  but  deliciously  cool,  and  quite  clean;  the 
floors  of  puddled  clay  or  ants'  nests,  and  very  clean.  On 
entering  these  cool  retreats,  the  flies  that  had  tormented 
them  shirked  the  cool  grot,  and  buzzed  off  to  the  nearest 
farm  to  batten  on  congenial  foulness.  On  the  fat,  round, 
glossy  babies,  not  a  speck  of  dirt,  Avhereas  the  little 
Boers  were  cakes  thereof.  The  Kafir  would  meet  them 
at  the  door,  his  clean  black  face  all  smiles  and  welcome. 
The  women  and  grown  girls  would  fling  a  spotless  hand- 
kerchief over  their  shoulders  in  a  moment,  and  display 
their  snowy  teeth,  in  unaffected  joy  at  sight  of  an 
Englishman. 

At  one  of  these  huts,  one  evening,  they  met  with 
something  St.  Paul  ranks  above  cleanliness  even,  viz., 
Christianity.  A  neighboring  lion  had  just  eaten  a 
Hottentot /(zw^e  de  mieux;  and  these  good  Kafirs  wanted 
the  Europeans  not  to  go  on  at  night  and  be  eaten  for 
dessert.  But  they  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English, 
and  pantomimic  expression  exists  in  theory  alone.     In 


328  A   SIMPLETON. 

vain  the  women  held  our  travellers  by  the  coat-tails,  and 
pointed  to  a  distant  wood.  In  vain  Kafir  pere  went  on 
all-fours  and  growled  sore.  But  at  last  a  savage  youth 
ran  to  the  kitchen — for  they  never  cook  in  the  liouse  — 
and  came  back  with  a  brand,  and  sketched,  on  the  wall 
of  the  hut,  a  lion  with  a  mane  down  to  the  ground,  and 
a  saucer  eye,  not  loving.  The  creature's  paw  rested  on  a 
hat  and  coat  and  another  fragment  or  two  of  a  European. 
The  rest  was  fore-shortened,  or  else  eaten. 

The  picture  completed,  the  females  looked,  approved, 
and  raised  a  dismal  howl. 

"  A  lion  on  the  road,"  said  Christopher  gravely. 

Then  the  undaunted  Falcon  seized  the  charcoal,  and 
drew  an  Englishman  in  a  theatrical  attitude,  left  foot 
well  forward,  firing  a  gun,  and  a  lion  rolling  head  over 
heels  like  a  buck  rabbit,  and  blood  squirting  out  of  a  hole 
in  his  perforated  carcass. 

The  savages  saw,  and  exulted.  They  were  so  off  their 
guard  as  to  confound  representation  with  fact ;  they  danced 
round  the  white  warrior,  and  launched  him  to  victory. 

"  Aha  ! "  said  Falcon,  "  I  took  the  shine  out  of  their 
lion,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  You  did :  and  once  there  was  a  sculptor  who  showed 
a  lion  his  marble  group,  a  man  trampling  a  lion,  extract- 
ing his  tongue,  and  so  on ;  but  report  says  it  did  not 
convince  the  lion." 

"  Why,  no ;  a  lion  is  not  an  ass.  But,  for  your  com- 
fort, there  are  no  lions  in  this  part  of  the  world.  They 
are  myths.  There  were  lions  in  Africa.  But  now  they 
are  all  at  the  Zoo.     And  I  wish  I  was  there  too." 

"  In  what  character  —  of  a  discontented  animal  —  with 
every  blessing  ?  They  would  not  take  you  in ;  too 
common  in  England.  Hallo!  this  is  something  new. 
What  lots  of  bushes  !  We  should  not  have  much  chance 
with  a  lion  here." 


A  SIMPLETON.  329 

"  There  are  no  lions  :  it  is  not  the  Zoo,"  said  Falcon ; 
but  he  spurred  on  faster. 

The  country,  however,  did  not  change  its  feature; 
bushes  and  little  acacias  prevailed,  and  presently  dark 
forms  began  to  glide  across  at  intervals. 

The  travellers  held  their  breath,  and  pushed  on ;  but 
at  last  their  horses  flagged ;  so  they  thought  it  best  to 
stop  and  light  a  fire  and  stand  upon  their  guard. 

They  did  so,  and  Falcon  sat  with  his  rifle  cocked,  while 
Staines  boiled  coffee,  and  they  drank  it,  and  after  two 
hours'  halt,  pushed  on ;  and  at  last  the  bushes  got  more 
scattered,  and  they  were  on  the  dreary  plain  again. 
Falcon  drew  the  rein,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  they 
walked  their  horses  side  by  side. 

''  Well,  what  has  become  of  the  lions  ?  "  said  Falcon 
jauntily.  He  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  saw  a  large 
animal  stealing  behind  them  with  its  belly  to  the  very 
eartk,  and  eyes  hot  coals ;  he  uttered  an  eldrich  screech, 
fired  both  barrels,  with  no  more  aim  than  a  baby,  and 
spurred  away,  yelling  like  a  demon.  The  animal  fled 
another  way,  in  equal  trepidation  at  those  tongues  of 
flame  and  loud  reports,  and  Christopher's  horse  reared 
and  plunged,  and  deposited  him  promptly  on  the  sward; 
but  he  held  the  bridle,  mounted  again,  and  rode  after  his 
companion.  A  stern  chase  is  a  long  chase ;  and  for  that 
or  some  other  reason  he  could  never  catch  him  again  till 
sunrise.  Being  caught,  he  ignored  the  lioness,  with  cool 
hauteur :  he  said  he  had  ridden  on  to  find  comfortable 
quarters  :  and  craved  thanks. 

This  was  literally  the  only  incident  worth  recording 
that  the  companions  met  with  in  three  hundred  miles. 

On  the  sixth  day  out,  towards  afternoon,  they  found 
by  inquiring  they  were  near  the  diamond  washings,  and 
the  short  route  was  pointed  out  by  an  exceptionally  civil 
Boer. 


330  A  SIMPLETON. 

But  Christoplier's  eye  had  lighted  upon  a  sort  of  chain 
of  knolls,  or  little  round  hills,  devoid  of  vegetation,  and 
he  told  Falcon  he  would  like  to  inspect  these,  before 
going  farther. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Boer,  "  they  are  not  on  my  farm,  thank 
goodness!  they  are  on  my  cousin  Bulteel's;"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  large  white  house  about  four  miles  distant, 
and  quite  off  the  road.  Nevertheless,  Staines  insisted 
on  going  to  it.  But  first  they  made  up  to  one  of  these 
knolls,  and  examined  it ;  it  was  about  thirty  feet  high, 
and  not  a  vestige  of  herbage  on  it ;  the  surface  was 
composed  of  sand  and  of  lumps  of  gray  limestone  very 
hard,  diversified  with  lots  of  quartz,  mica,  and  other  old 
formations. 

Staines  got  to  the  top  of  it  with  some  difficulty,  and 
examined  the  surface  all  over.  He  came  down  again, 
and  said,  "  All  these  little  hills  mark  hot  volcanic  action 
—  why,  they  are  like  boiling  earth-bubbles  —  which  is 
the  very  thing,  under  certain  conditions,  to  turn  carbon- 
ate of  lime  into  diamonds.  Now  here  is  plenty  of  lime- 
stone unnaturally  hard ;  and  being  in  a  diamond  country, 
I  can  fancy  no  place  more  likely  to  be  the  matrix  than 
these  earth-bubbles.  Let  us  tether  the  horses,  and  use 
our  shovels." 

They  did  so ;  and  found  one  or  two  common  crystaL^ 
and  some  jasper,  and  a  piece  of  chalcedony  all  in  little 
bubbles,  but  no  diamond.  Falcon  said  it  was  wasting 
time. 

Just  then  the  proprietor,  a  gigantic,  pasty  colonist, 
came  up,  with  his  pipe,  and  stood  calmly  looking  on. 
Staines  came  down,  and  made  a  sort  of  apology.  Bulteel 
smiled  quietly,  and  asked  what  harm  they  could  do  him, 
raking  that  rubbish.  "  Rake  it  all  avay,  mine  vriends," 
said  he :  "  ve  shall  thank  you  moch." 

He  then  invited  them  languidly  to  his  house.     They 


A  SIMPLETON.  331 

went  with  him,  and  as  he  volunteered  no  more  remarks, 
they  questioned  him,  and  learned  his  father  had  been  a 
Hollander,  and  so  had  his  vrow's.  This  accounted  for 
the  size  and  comparative  cleanliness  of  his  place.  It  was 
stuccoed  with  the  lime  of  the  country  outside,  and  was 
four  times  as  large  as  the  miserable  farmhouses  of  the 
degenerate  Boers.  For  all  this,  the  street  door  opened 
on  the  principal  room,  and  that  room  was  kitchen  and 
parlor,  only  very  large  and  wholesome.  "But,  Lord," 
as  poor  dear  Pepys  used  to  blurt  out  —  "  to  see  how  some 
folk  understand  cleanliness  !  "  The  floor  was  made  of 
powdered  ants'  nests,  and  smeared  with  fresh  cow-dung 
every  day.  Yet  these  people  were  the  cleanest  Boers  in 
the  colony. 

The  vrow  met  them,  with  a  snow-white  collar  and 
cuffs  of  Hamburgh  linen,  and  the  brats  had  pasty  faces 
round  as  pumpkins,  but  shone  with  soap.  The  vrow  was 
also  pasty-faced,  but  gentle,  and  welcomed  them  with  a 
smile,  languid,  but  unequivocal. 

The  Hottentots  took  their  horses,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Their  guns  were  put  in  a  corner.  A  clean  cloth  was 
spread,  and  they  saw  they  were  to  sup  and  sleep  there, 
though  the  words  of  invitation  were  never  spoken. 

At  supper,  sun-dried  flesh,  cabbage,  and  a  savory  dish 
the  travellers  returned  to  with  gusto.  Staines  asked 
what  it  was :  the  vrow  told  him  —  locusts.  They  had 
stripped  her  garden,  and  filled  her  very  rooms,  and  fallen 
in  heaps  under  her  walls  ;  so  she  had  pressed  them,  by 
the  million,  into  cakes,  had  salted  them  lightly,  and 
stored  them,  and  they  were  excellent,  baked. 

After  supper,  the  accomplished  Reginald,  observing  a 
wire  guitar,  tuned  it  with  some  difiiculty,  and  so  twanged 
it,  and  sang  ditties  to  it,  that  the  flabby  giant's  pasty 
face  wore  a  look  of  dreamy  content  over  his  everlasting 
pipe ;  and  in  the  morning,  after  a  silent  breakfast,  he 


332  A  SIMPLETON. 

said,  "  Mine  vriends,  stay  here  a  year  or  two,  and  rake 
in  mine  rubbish.  Ven  you  are  tired,  here  are  springbok 
and  antelopes,  and  you  can  shoot  mit  your  rifles,  and  ve 
vil  cook  them,  and  you  shall  zing  us  zongs  of  Vaderland." 

They  thanked  him  heartily,  and  said  they  would  stay 
a  few  days,  at  all  events. 

The  placid  Boer  went  a-farming ;  and  the  pair  shoul- 
dered their  pick  and  shovel,  and  worked  on  their  heap 
all  day,  and  found  a  number  of  pretty  stones,  but  no 
diamond. 

"  Come,"  said  Falcon,  "  Ave  must  go  to  the  river ;  "  and 
Staines  acquiesced.     "  I  bow  to  experience,"  said  he. 

At  the  threshold  they  found  two  of  the  little  Bulteels, 
playing  with  pieces  of  quartz,  crystal,  etc.,  on  the  door- 
stone.  One  of  these  stones  caught  Staines's  eye  directly. 
It  sparkled  in  a  different  way  from  the  others :  he  exam- 
ined it :  it  was  the  size  of  a  white  haricot  bean,  and  one 
side  of  it  polished  by  friction.  He  looked  at  it,  and 
looked,  and  saw  that  it  refracted  the  light.  He  felt 
convinced  it  was  a  diamond. 

"Give  the  boy  a  penny  for  it,"  said  the  ingenious 
Falcon,  on  receiving  the  information. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Staines.     "  Take  advantage  of  a  child  ?  " 

He  borrowed  it  of  the  boy,  and  laid  it  on  the  table, 
after  supper.  "Sir,"  said  he,  "this  is  what  we  were 
raking  in  your  kopjes  for,  and  could  not  find  it.  It 
belongs  to  little  Hans.  Will  you  sell  it  us  ?  We  are 
not  experts,  but  we  think  it  may  be  a  diamond.  We 
will  risk  ten  pounds  on  it." 

"  Ten  pounds  ! "  said  the  farmer.  "  Nay,  we  rob  not 
travellers,  mine  vriend." 

"  But  if  it  is  a  diamond,  it  is  "worth  a  hundred.  See 
how  it  gains  fire  in  the  dusk." 

In  short,  they  forced  the  ten  pounds  on  him,  and  next 
day  went  to  work  on  another  kopje. 


A  SIMPLETON.  333 

But  the  simple  farmer's  conscience  smote  him.  It 
was  a  slack  time;  so  he  sent  four  Hottentots,  with 
shovels,  to  help  these  friendly  maniacs.  These  worked 
away  gayly,  and  the  white  men  set  up  a  sorting  table, 
and  sorted  the  stuff,  and  hammered  the  nodules,  and  at 
last  found  a  little  stone  as  big  as  a  pea  that  refracted  the 
iight.  Staines  showed  this  to  the  Hottentots,  and  their 
quick  eyes  discovered  two  more  that  day,  only  smaller. 

Next  day,  nothing  but  a  splinter  or  two. 

Then  Staines  determined  to  dig  deeper,  contrary  to 
the  general  impression.  He  gave  his  reason :  "  Diamonds 
don't  fall  from  the  sky.  They  work  up  from  the  ground ; 
and  clearly  the  heat  must  be  greater  farther  down." 

Acting  on  this,  they  tried  the  next  strata,  but  found  it 
entirely  barren.  After  that,  however,  they  came  to  a 
fresh  layer  of  carbonate,  and  here.  Falcon  hammering  a 
large  lump  of  conglomerate,  out  leaped,  all  of  a  sudden, 
a  diamond  big  as  a  nut,  that  ran  along  the  earth,  gleam- 
ing like  a  star.  It  had  polished  angles  and  natural 
facets,  and  even  a  novice,  with  an  eye  in  his  head,  could 
see  it  was  a  diamond  of  the  purest  water.  Staines  and 
Falcon  shout.ed  with  delight,  and  made  the  blacks  a 
present  on  the  spot. 

They  showed  the  prize,  at  night,  and  begged  the  fanner 
to  take  to  digging.  There  was  ten  times  more  money 
beneath  his  soil  than  on  it. 

Not  he.    He  was  a  farmer :  did  not  believe  in  diamonds. 

Two  days  afterwards,  another  great  find.  Seven  small 
diamonds. 

Next  day,  a  stone  as  large  as  a  cob-nut,  and  with 
strange  and  beautiful  streaks.  They  carried  it  home  to 
dinner,  and  set  it  on  the  table,  and  told  the  family  it 
was  worth  a  thousand  pounds.  Bulteel  scarcely  looked 
at  it;  but  the  vrow  trembled  and  all  the  young  folk 
glowered  at  it. 


334  A  SIMPLETON. 

In  the  middle  of  dinner,  it  exploded  like  a  cracker, 
and  went  literally  into  diamond-dust. 

"  Dere  goes  von  tousand  pounds,"  said  Bulteel,  with- 
out moving  a  muscle. 

Falcon  swore.  But  Staines  showed  fortitude.  "It 
was  laminated,"  said  he,  "and  exposure  to  the  air  was 
fatal." 

Owing  to  the  invaluable  assistance  of  the  Hottentots, 
they  had  in  less  than  a  month  collected  four  large  stones 
of  pure  water,  and  a  wineglassful  of  small  stones,  when, 
one  fine  day,  going  to  work  calmly  after  breakfast,  they 
found  some  tents  pitched,  and  at  least  a  score  of  dirty 
diggers,  bearded  like  the  pard,  at  work  on  the  ground. 
Staines  sent  Falcon  back  to  tell  Bulteel,  and  suggest  that 
he  should  at  once  order  them  off,  or,  better  still,  make 
terms  with  them.     The  phlegmatic  Boer  did  neitlier. 

In  twenty-four  hours  it  was  too  late.  The  place  was 
rushed.  In  other  words,  diggers  swarmed  to  the  spot, 
with  no  idea  of  law  but  digger's  law. 

A  thousand  tents  rose  like  mushrooms;  and  poor 
Bulteel  stood  smoking,  and  staring  amazed,  at  his  own 
door,  and  saw  a  veritable  procession  of  wagons,  Cape 
carts,  and  powdered  travellers  file  past  him  to  take  pos- 
session of  his  hillocks.  Him,  the  proprietor,  they  simply 
ignored ;  they  had  a  committee  who  were  to  deal  with 
all  obstructions,  landlords  and  tenants  included.  They 
themselves  measured  out  Bulteel's  farm  into  thirty-foot 
claims,  and  went  to  work  with  shovel  and  pick.  They 
held  Staines's  claim  sacred  —  that  was  diggers'  law ; 
but  they  confined  it  strictly  to  thirty  feet  square. 

Had  the  friends  resisted,  their  brains  would  have 
been  knocked  out.  However,  they  gained  this,  that 
dealers  poured  in,  and  the  market  not  being  yet  glutted, 
the  price  was  good.  Staines  sold  a  feAV  of  the  small 
stones  for  two  hundred  pounds.     He  showed  one  of  the 


A  SIMPLETON.  335 

larger  stones.  The  dealer's  eye  glittered,  but  lie  offered 
only  three  hundred  pounds,  and  this  was  so  wide  of  the 
ascending  scale,  on  which  a  stone  of  that  importance  is 
priced,  that  Staines  reserved  it  for  sale  at  Cape  Town. 

Nevertheless,  he  afterwards  doubted  whether  he  had 
not  better  have  taken  it;  for  the  multitude  of  diggers 
turned  out  such  a  prodigious  number  of  diamonds  at 
Bulteel's  pan,  that  a  sort  of  panic  fell  on  the  market. 

These  dry  diggings  were  a  revelation  to  the  world. 
Men  began  to  think  the  diamond  perhaps  was  a  com- 
moner stone  than  any  one  had  dreamed  it  to  be. 

As  to  the  discovery  of  stones,  Staines  and  Falcon  lost 
nothing  by  being  confined  to  a  thirty-foot  claim.  Com- 
pelled to  dig  deeper,  they  got  into  a  rich  strata,  where 
they  found  garnets  by  the  pint,  and  some  small  dia- 
monds, and  at  last,  one  lucky  day,  their  largest  diamond. 
It  weighed  thirty-seven  carats,  and  was  a  rich  yellow. 
N'ow,  when  a  diamond  is  clouded  or  off  color,  it  is  terri- 
bly depreciated ;  but  a  diamond  with  a  positive  color  is 
called  a  fancy  stone,  and  ranks  with  the  purest  stones. 

"I  wish  I  had  this  in  Cape  Town,"  said  Staines. 

"  Why,  I'll  take  it  to  Cape  Town,  if  you  like,"  said 
the  changeable  Falcon. 

**  You  will  ?  "  said  Christopher,  surprised. 

"  Why  not  ?  I'm  not  much  of  a  digger.  I  can  serve 
our  interest  better  by  selling.  I  could  get  a  thousand 
pounds  for  this  at  Cape  Town." 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  quietly,"  said  Christopher. 

Now,  the  fact  is.  Falcon,  as  a  digger,  was  not  worth  a 
pin.  He  could  not  sort.  His  eyes  Avould  not  bear  the 
blinding  glare  of  a  tropical  sun  upon  lime  and  dazzling 
bits  of  mica,  quartz,  crystal,  white  topaz,  etc.,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  true  glint  of  the  royal  stone  had  to 
be  caught  in  a  moment.  He  could  not  sort,  and  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  dig.     The  only  way  to  make  him  earn 


336  A  SIMPLETON. 

liis  half  was  to  turn  him  into  the  travelling  and  selling 
partner. 

Christopher  was  too  generous  to  tell  him  this ;  but  he 
acted  on  it,  and  said  he  thought  his  was  an  excellent 
proposal;  indeed,  he  had  better  take  all  the  diamonds 
they  had  got  to  Dale's  Kloof  first,  and  show  them  to  his 
wife,  for  her  consolation :  "  And  perhaps,"  said  he,  "  in  a 
matter  of  this  importance,  she  will  go  to  Cape  Town 
with  you,  and  try  the  market  there." 

"  All  right,"  said  Falcon. 

He  sat  and  brooded  over  the  matter  a  long  time,  and 
said,  "  Why  make  two  bites  of  a  cherry  ?  They  will 
only  give  us  half  the  value  at  Cape  Town ;  why  not  go 
by  the  steamer  to  England,  before  the  London  market 
is  glutted,  and  all  the  world  finds  out  that  diamonds  are 
as  common  as  dirt  ?  " 

"Go  to  England!  What!  without  your  wife?  I'll 
never  be  a  party  to  that.  Me  part  man  and  wife !  If 
you  knew  my  own  story  "  — 

"  Why,  who  wants  you  ?  "  said  Eeginald.  "  You  don't 
understand.  Phoebe  is  dyiug  to  visit  England  again; 
but  she  has  got  no  excuse.  If  you  like  to  give  her  one, 
she  will  be  much  obliged  to  you,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  very  different  matter.  If  Mrs.  Falcon 
can  leave  her  farm  "  — 

"Oh,  that  brute  of  a  brother. of  hers  is  a  very  honest 
fellow,  for  that  matter.  She  can  trust  the  farm  to  him. 
Besides,  it  is  only  a  month's  voyage  by  the  mail  steamer." 

This  suggestion  of  Falcon's  set  Christopher's  heart 
bounding,  and  his  eyes  glistening.  But  he  restrained 
himself,  and  said,  "  This  takes  me  by  surprise ;  let  me 
smoke  a  pipe  over  it." 

He  not  only  did  that,  but  he  lay  awake  all  night. 

The  fact  is  that  for  some  time  past,  Christopher  had 
felt  sharp  twinges  of  conscience;  and  deep  misgivings  as 


A  SIMPLETON.  337 

to  the  course  he  had  pursued  in  leaving  his  wife  a  single 
day  in  the  dark.  Complete  convalescence  had  cleared 
his  moral  sentiments,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  the  discovery 
of  the  diamonds  had  co-operated ;  since  now  the  insur- 
ance money  was  no  longer  necessary  to  keep  his  wife 
from  starving. 

"  Ah ! "  said  he ;  "  faith  is  a  great  quality ;  and  how  I 
have  lacked  it ! " 

To  do  him  justice,  he  knew  his  wife's  excitable  nature, 
and  was  not  without  fears  of  some  disaster,  should  the 
news  be  communicated  to  her  unskilfully. 

But  this  proposal  of  Falcon's  made  the  way  clearer. 
Mrs.  Falcon,  though  not  a  lady,  had  all  a  lady's  delicacy, 
and  all  a  woman's  tact  and  tenderness.  He  knew  no  one 
in  the  world  more  fit  to  be  trusted  with  the  delicate  task 
of  breaking  to  his  Rosa  that  the  grave,  for  once,  was 
baffled,  and  her  husband  lived.  He  now  became  quite 
anxious  for  Falcon's  departure,  and  ardently  hoped  that 
Avorthy  had  not  deceived  himself  as  to  Mrs.  Falcon's 
desire  to  visit  England. 

In  short,  it  was  settled  that  Falcon  should  start  for 
Dale's  Kloof,  taking  with  him  the  diamonds,  believed  to 
be  worth  altogether  three  thousand  pounds  at  Cape 
Town,  and  nearly  as  much  again  in  England,  and  a  long 
letter  to  Mrs.  Falcon,  in  which  Staines  revealed  his  true 
story,  told  her  where  to  find  his  wife,  or  hear  of  her, 
viz.,  at  Kent  Villa,  Gravesend,  and  sketched  an  outline 
of  instructions  as  to  the  way,  and  cunning  degrees,  by 
which  the  joyful  news  should  be  broken  to  her.  With 
this  he  sent  a  long  letter  to  be  given  to  Rosa  herself, 
but  not  till  she  should  know  all :  and  in  this  letter  he 
enclosed  the  ruby  ring  she  had  given  him.  Tliat  ring 
had  never  left  his  finger,  by  sea  or  land,  in  sickness  or 
health. 

The  letter  to  Rosa  was  sealed.  The  two  letters  nia^lc 
22 


338  A  SIMPLETON. 

quite  a  packet ;  for,  in  the  letter  to  his  beloved  Eosa,  he 
told  her  everything  that  had  befallen  him.  It  was  a 
romance,  and  a  picture  of  love  ;  a  letter  to  lift  a  loving 
woman  to  heaven,  and  almost  reconcile  her  to  all  her 
bereaved  heart  had  suffered. 

This  letter,  written  with  many  tears  from  the  heart 
that  had  so  suffered,  and  was  now  softened  by  good 
fortune  and  bounding  with  joy,  Staines  entrusted  to 
Falcon,  together  with  the  other  diamonds,  and  with  many 
warm  shakings  of  the  hand,  started  him  on  his  way. 

''  But  mind,  Falcon,"  said  Christopher,  "  I  shall  expect 
an  answer  from  Mrs.  Falcon  in  twenty  days  at  farthest. 
I  do  not  feel  so  sure  as  you  do  that  she  wants  to  go  to 
England ;  and,  if  not,  I  must  write  to  Uncle  Philip.  Give 
me  your  solemn  promise,  old  fellow,  an  answer  in  twenty 
days  —  if  you  have  to  send  a  Kafir  on  horseback." 

"  I  give  you  my  honor,"  said  Falcon  superbly. 

"  Send  it  to  me  at  Bulteel's  Farm." 

"  All  right.     '  Dr.  Christie,  Bulteel's  Farm.' " 

"Well  —  no.  Why  should  I  conceal  my  real  name 
any  longer  from  such  friends  as  you  and  your  wife  ? 
Christie  is  short  for  Christopher  —  that  is  my  Chris- 
tian name;  but  my  surname  is  Staines.  Write  to 
'Dr.  Staines.'" 

"  Dr.  Staines  ! " 

"Yes.    Did  you  ever  hear  of  me  ? " 

Falcon  wore  a  strange  look.  "  I  almost  think  I  have. 
Down  at  Gravesend,  or  somewhere." 

"  That  is  curious.  Yes,  I  married  my  Kosa  there ; 
poor  thing!  God  bless  her;  God  comfort  her.  She 
thinks  me  dead." 

His  voice  trembled,  he  grasped  Falcon's  cold  hand  till 
the  latter  winced  again,  and  so  they  parted,  and  Falcon  rode 
off  muttering,  "Dr.  Staines  !  so  then  you  are  Dr.  Staines.'' 


A  SIMPLETON.  339 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Rosa  Staines  had  youth  on  her  side,  and  it  is  an  old 
saying  that  youth  will  not  be  denied.  Youth  struggled 
with  death  for  her,  and  won  the  battle. 

But  she  came  out  of  that  terrible  fight  weak  as  a  child. 
The  sweet  pale  face,  the  widow's  cap,  the  suit  of  deep 
black  —  it  was  long  ere  these  came  down  from  the  sick- 
room. And  when  they  did,  oh,  the  dead  blank !  The 
weary,  listless  life  !  The  days  spent  in  sighs,  and  tears, 
and  desolation.  Solitude  !  solitude  !  Her  husband  was 
gone,  and  a  strange  woman  played  the  mother  to  her 
child  before  her  eyes. 

Uncle  Philip  was  devotedly  kind  to  her,  and  so  was 
her  father ;  but  they  could  do  nothing  for  her. 

Months  rolled  on,  and  skinned  the  wound  over. 
Months  could  not  heal.  Her  boy  became  dearer  and 
dearer,  and  it  was  from  him  came  the  first  real  drops  of 
comfort,  however  feeble. 

She  used  to  read  her  lost  one's  diary  every  day,  and 
worship,  in  deep  sorrow,  the  mind  she  had  scarcely 
respected  until  it  was  too  late.  She  searched  in  his 
diary  to  find  his  will,  and  often  she  mourned  that  he  had 
written  on  it  so  few  things  she  could  obey.  Her  desire 
to  obey  the  dead,  whom,  living,  she  had  often  disobeyed, 
was  really  simple  and  touching.  She  would  mourn  to 
her  father  that  there  were  so  few  commands  to  her  in  his 
diary.  "  But,"  said  she,  "  memory  brings  me  back  his 
will  in  many  things,  and  to  obey  is  now  the  only  sad 
comfort  I  have." 

It  was  in  this  spirit  she  now  forced  herself  to  keep 


340  A   SIMPLETON. 

accounts.  No  fear  of  her  wearing  stays  now ;  no 
powder ;  no  trimmings ;  no  waste. 

After  the  usual  delay,  her  father  told  her  she  should 
instruct  a  solicitor  to  apply  to  the  insurance  company  for 
the  six  thousand  pounds.  She  refused  with  a  burst  of 
agony.  "  The  price  of  his  life,"  she  screamed.  "  Never ! 
I'd  live  on  bread  and  water  sooner  than  touch  that  vile 
money." 

Her  father  remonstrated  gently.  But  she  was  immov- 
able.    "  No.     It  would  be  like  consenting  to  his  death." 

Then  Uncle  Philip  was  sent  for. 

He  set  her  child  on  her  knee;  and  gave  her  a  pen. 
"Come,"  said  he,  sternly,  "be  a  woman,  and  do  your 
duty  to  little  Christie." 

She  kissed  the  boy,  cried,  and  did  her  duty  meekly. 
But  when  the  money  was  brought  her,  she  flew  to  Uncle 
Philip,  and  said,  "  There !  there ! "  and  threw  it  all 
before  him,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  He 
waited  patiently,  and  asked  her  what  he  was  to  do  with 
all  that :  invest  it  ? 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  for  my  little  Christie." 

"  And  pay  you  the  interest  quarterly." 

"Oh,  no,  no.  Dribble  us  out  a  little  as  we  want  it. 
That  is  the  way  to  be  truly  kind  to  a  simpleton.  I  hate 
that  word." 

"  And  suppose  I  run  off  with  it  ?  Such  confiding 
geese  as  you  corrupt  a  man." 

"I  shall  never  corrupt  you.  Crusty  people  are  the 
soul  of  honor." 

"  Crusty  people  ! "  cried  Philip,  affecting  amazement. 
"Whatare  they  ?" 

She  bit  her  lip  and  colored  a  little ;  but  answered 
adroitly,  "  They  are  people  that  pretend  not  to  have  good 
hearts,  but  have  the  best  in  the  world ;  far  better  ones 
than  your  smooth  ones  :  that's  crusty  people." 


A  SIMPLETON.  341 

"Very  well,"  said  Philip;  "and  I'll  tell  you  what  sim- 
pletons are.  They  are  little  transparent-looking  creatures 
that  look  shallow,  but  are  as  deep  as  Old  Nick,  and  make 
you  love  them  in  spite  of  your  judgment.  They  are  the 
most  artful  of  their  sex ;  for  they  always  achieve  its 
great  object,  to  be  loved  —  the  very  thing  that  clever 
women  sometimes  fail  in." 

"  Well,  and  if  we  are  not  to  be  loved,  why  live  at  all  — 
such  useless  things  as  I  am  ?  "  said  Kosa  simply. 

So  Philip  took  charge  of  her  money,  and  agreed  to 
help  her  save  money  for  her  little  Christopher.  Poverty 
should  never  destroy  him,  as  it  had  his  father. 

As  months  rolled  on,  she  crept  out  into  public  a  little ; 
but  always  on  foot,  and  a  very  little  way  from  home. 

Youth  and  sober  life  gradually  restored  her  strength, 
but  not  her  color,  nor  her  buoyancy. 

Yet  she  was  perhaps  more  beautiful  than  ever ;  for  a 
holy  sorrow  chastened  and  sublimed  her  features  :  it  was 
now  a  sweet,  angelic,  pensive  beauty,  that  interested 
every  feeling  person  at  a  glance. 

She  would  visit  no  one ;  but  a  twelvemonth  after  her 
bereavement,  she  received  a  few  chosen  visitors. 

One  day  a  young  gentleman  called,  and  sent  up  his 
card,  "  Lord  Tadcaster,"  with  a  note  from  Lady  Cicely 
Treherne,  full  of  kindly  feeling.  Uncle  Philip  had 
reconciled  her  to  Lady  Cicely ;  but  they  had  never 
met. 

Mrs.  Staines  was  much  agitated  at  the  very  name  of 
Lord  Tadcaster ;  but  she  would  not  have  missed  seeing 
him  for  the  world. 

She  received  him  with  her  beautiful  eyes  wide  open, 
to  drink  in  every  lineament  of  one  who  had  seen  the 
last  of  her  Christopher. 

Tadcaster  was  wonderfully  improved :  he  had  grown 
six  inches  out  at  sea,  and  though  still  short,  was  not 


342  A  SIMPLETON. 

diminutive ;  he  was  a  small  Apollo,  a  model  of  symmetry, 
and  had  an  engaging,  girlish  beauty,  redeemed  from 
downright  effeminacy  by  a  golden  mustache  like  silk, 
and  a  tanned  cheek  that  became  him  wonderfully. 

He  seemed  dazzled  at  first  by  Mrs.  Staines,  but  mur- 
mured that  Lady  Cicely  had  told  him  to  come,  or  he 
would  not  have  ventured. 

"■  Who  can  be  so  welcome  to  me  as  you  ?  "  said  she, 
and  the  tears  came  thick  in  her  eyes  directly. 

Soon,  he  hardly  knew  how,  he  found  himself  talking 
of  Staines,  and  telling  her  what  a  favorite  he  was,  and 
all  the  clever  things  he  had  done. 

The  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  begged 
him  to  go  on  telling  her,  and  omit  nothing. 

He  complied  heartily,  and  was  even  so  moved  by  the 
telling  of  his  friend's  virtues,  and  her  tears  and  sobs, 
that  he  mingled  his  tears  with  hers.  She  rewarded  him 
by  giving  him  her  hand  as  she  turned  away  her  tearful 
face  to  indulge  the  fresh  burst  of  grief  his  sympathy 
evoked. 

When  he  was  leaving,  she  said,  in  her  simple  way, 
"Bless  you" —  "Come  again,"  she  said:  "you  have 
done  a  poor  widow  good." 

Lord  Tadcaster  was  so  interested  and  charmed,  he 
would  gladly  have  come  back  next  day  to  see  her ;  but 
he  restrained  that  extravagance,  and  waited  a  week. 

Then  he  visited  her  again.  He  had  observed  the  villa 
was  not  rich  in  flowers,  and  he  took  her  down  a  magnifi- 
cent bouquet,  cut  from  his  father's  hot-houses.  At  sight 
of  him,  or  at  sight  of  it,  or  both,  the  color  rose  for 
once  in  her  pale  cheek,  and  her  pensive  face  wore  a 
sweet  expression  of  satisfaction.  She  took  his  flowers, 
and  thanked  him  for  them,  and  for  coming  to  see  her. 

Soon  they  got  on  the  only  topic  she  cared  for,  and,  in 
the  course  of  this  second  conversation,  he  took  her  into 


A  SIMPLETON.  343 

his  confidence,  and  told  her  he  owed  everything  to  Dr. 
Staines.  '''  I  was  on  the  wrong  road  altogether,  and  he 
put  me  right.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  used  to  disobey 
him  now  and  then,  while  he  was  alive,  and  I  was  always 
the  worse  for  it ;  now  he  is  gone,  I  never  disobey  him. 
I  have  written  down  a  lot  of  wise,  kind  things  he  said 
to  me,  and  I  never  go  against  any  one  of  them.  I  call  it 
my  book  of  oracles.  Dear  me,  I  might  have  brought  it 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  why  didn't  you  ?  "  rather  reproachfully. 

"  I  will  bring  it  next  time." 

«  Pray  do." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  with  her  lovely  swimming 
eyes,  and  said  tenderly,  "And  so  here  is  another  that 
disobeyed  him  living,  but  obeys  him  dead.  What  will 
you  think  when  I  tell  you  that  I,  his  wife,  who  now 
worship  him  when  it  is  too  late,  often  thwarted  and 
vexed  him  when  he  was  alive  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  He  told  me  you  were  an  angel,  and  I  believe 
it." 

"  An  angel !  a  good-for-nothing,  foolish  woman,  who 
sees  everything  too  late." 

"  Nobody  else  should  say  so  before  me,"  said  the  little 
gentleman  grandly.  "  I  shall  take  his  word  before  yours 
on  this  one  subject.  If  ever  there  was  an  angel,  you  are 
one  ;  and  oh,  what  would  I  give  if  I  could  but  say  or  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  comfort  you  !  " 

"  You  can  do  nothing  for  me,  dear,  but  come  and  see 
me  often,  and  talk  to  me  as  you  do  —  on  the  one  sad 
theme  my  broken  heart  has  room  for." 

This  invitation  delighted  Lord  Tadcaster,  and  the 
sweet  word  "  dear,"  from  her  lovely  lips,  entered  his 
heart,  and  ran  through  all  his  veins  like  some  rapturous 
but  dangerous  elixir.  He  did  not  say  to  himself,  "  She 
is  a  widow  with  a  child,  feels  old  with  grief,  and  looks 


344  A  SIMPLETON. 

on  me  as  a  boy  wlio  has  been  kind  to  her."  Such  pru- 
dence and  wariness  were  hardly  to  be  expected  from  his 
age.  He  had  admired  her  at  first  sight,  very  nearly 
loved  her  at  their  first  interview,  and  now  this  sweet 
word  opened  a  heavenly  vista.  The  generous  heart  that 
beat  in  his  small  frame  burned  to  console  her  with  a 
life-long  devotion  and  all  the  sweet  offices  of  love. 

He  ordered  his  yacht  to  Gravesend  —  for  he  had  become 
a  sailor  —  and  then  he  called  on  Mrs.  Staines,  and  told 
her,  with  a  sort  of  sheepish  cunning,  that  now,  as  his 
yacht  liappened  to  be  at  Gravesend,  he  could  come  and 
see  her  very  often.  He  watched  her  timidly,  to  see  how 
she  would  take  that  proposition. 

She  said,  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  "I'm  very  glad 
of  it." 

Then  he  produced  his  oracles  :  and  she  devoured  them. 
Such  precepts  to  Tadcaster  as  she  could  apply  to  her  own 
case  she  instantly  noted  in  her  memory,  and  they  became 
her  law  from  that  moment. 

Then,  in  her  simplicity,  she  said,  "And  I  w^ill  show 
you  some  things,  in  his  own  handwriting,  that  may  be 
good  for  you ;  but  I  can't  show  you  the  whole  book : 
some  of  it  is  sacred  from  every  eye  but  his  wife's.  His 
wife's  ?     Ah  me  !  his  widow's." 

Then  she  pointed  out  passages  in  the  diary  that  she 
thought  might  be  for  his  good ;  and  he  nestled  to  her 
side,  and  followed  her  white  finger  with  loving  eyes,  and 
was  in  an  elysium — which  she  would  certainly  have 
put  a  stop  to  at  that  time,  had  she  divined  it.  But  all 
wisdom  does  not  come  at  once  to  an  unguarded  woman. 
Eosa  Staines  was  wiser  about  her  husband  than  she  had 
been,  but  she  had  plenty  to  learn. 

Lord  Tadcaster  anchored  off  Gravesend,  and  visited 
Mrs.  Staines  nearly  every  day.  She  received  him  with 
a  pleasure  that  was  not  at  all  lively,  but  quite  undis- 


A  SIMPLETON.  345 

guised.  He  could  not  doubt  liis  welcome ;  for  once, 
when  he  came,  she  said  to  the  servant,  "Not  at  home,"  a 
plain  proof  she  did  not  wish  his  visit  to  be  cut  short  by 
any  one  else. 

And  so  these  visits  and  devoted  attentions  of  every 
kind  went  on  unobserved  by  Lord  Tadcaster's  friends, 
because  Eosa  would  never  go  out,  even  with  him  ;  but  at 
last  Mr.  Lusignan  saw  plainly  how  this  would  end,  unless 
he  interfered. 

AVell,  he  did  not  interfere ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
careful  to  avoid  putting  his  daughter  on  her  guard :  he 
said  to  himself,  ''Lord  Tadcaster  does  her  good.  I'm 
afraid  she  would  not  marry  him,  if  he  was  to  ask  her 
now ;  but  in  time  she  might.  She  likes  him  a  great  deal 
better  than  any  one  else." 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  abroad  for  his  own  health,  some- 
what impaired  by  his  long  and  faithful  attendance  oi? 
Rosa. 

So  now  Lord  Tadcaster  was  in  constant  attendance  on 
Kosa.  She  was  languid,  but  gentle  and  kind ;  and,  as 
mourners,  like  invalids,  are  apt  to  be  egotistical,  she  saw 
nothing  but  that  he  was  a  comfort  to  her  in  her  affliction. 

While  matters  were  so,  the  Earl  of  Miltshire,  who 
had  long  been  sinking,  died,  and  Tadcaster  succeeded  to 
his  honors  and  estates. 

Rosa  heard  of  it,  and,  thinking  it  was  a  great  bereave- 
ment, wrote  him  one  of  those  exquisite  letters  of  con- 
dolence a  lady  alone  can  write.  He  took  it  to  Lady 
Cicely,  and  showed  it  her.     She  highly  approved  it. 

He  said,  "  The  only  thing  —  it  makes  me  ashamed,  I 
do  not  feel  my  poor  father's  death  more ;  but  you  know 
it  has  been  so  long  expected."  Then  he  was  silent  a 
long  time ;  and  then  he  asked  her  if  such  a  woman  as 
that  would  not  make  him  happy,  if  he  could  win  her. 

It  was  on  her  ladyship's  tongue  to  say,  "  She  did  not 


346  A  SIMPLETON. 

make  her  first  happy ; "  hut  she  forbore,  and  said  coldly, 
that  was  maw  than  she  could  say. 

Tadcaster  seemed  disappointed  by  that,  and  by  and  by 
Cicely  took  herself  to  task.  She  asked  herself  what 
were  Tadcaster's  chances  in  the  lottery  of  wives.  The 
heavy  army  of  scheming  mothers,  and  the  light  cavalry 
of  artful  daughters,  rose  before  her  cousinly  and  disin- 
terested eyes,  and  she  asked  herself  what  chance  poor 
little  Tadcaster  would  have  of  catching  a  true  love,  with 
a  hundred  female  artists  manoeuvring,  wheeling,  ambus- 
cading, and  charging  ujwn  his  wealth  and  titles.  She 
returned  to  the  subject  of  her  own  accord,  and  told  him 
she  saw  but  one  objection  to  such  a  match :  the  lady  had 
a  son  by  a  man  of  rare  merit  and  misfortune.  Could 
he,  at  his  age,  undertake  to  be  a  father  to  that  son  ? 
"  Othahwise,"  said  Lady  Cicely,  '"  mark  my  words,  you 
will  quail  over  that  poor  child ;  and  you  will  have  two 
to  quail  with,  because  I  shall  be  on  her  side." 

Tadcaster  declared  to  her  that  child  should  be  quite 
the  opposite  of  a  bone  of  contention.  ''  I  have  thought 
of  that,"  said  he,  "  and  I  mean  to  be  so  kind  to  that  boy, 
I  shall  make  her  love  me  for  that." 

On  these  terms  Lady  Cicely  gave  her  consent. 

Then  he  asked  her  should  he  write,  or  ask  her  in 
person. 

Lady  Cicely  reflected.  "If  you  write,  I  think  she 
will  say  no." 

"But  if  I  go?" 

"  Then,  it  will  depend  on  how  you  do  it.  Eosa  Staines 
is  a  true  mourner.  Whatever  you  may  think,  I  don't 
believe  the  idea  of  a  second  union  has  ever  entered  her 
head.  But  then  she  is  very  unselfish :  and  she  likes 
you  better  than  any  one  else,  I  dare  say.  I  don't  tliink 
your  title  or  your  money  will  weigh  with  her  now.  But, 
if  you  show  her  your  happiness  depends  on  it,  she  may, 


A   SIMPLETON.  347 

perhaps,  cwy  and  sob  at  the  very  idea  of  it,  and  then, 
after  all,  say,  'Well,  why  not  —  if  I  can  make  the  poor 
soul  happy  ? ' " 

So,  on  this  advice,  Tadcaster  went  down  to  Gravesend, 
and  Lady  Cicely  felt  a  certain  self-satisfaction ;  for,  h(n- 
well-meant  interference  having  lost  Rosa  one  husband, 
she  was  pleased  to  think  she  had  done  something  to 
give  her  another. 

Lord  Tadcaster  came  to  Rosa  Staines;  he  found  her 
seated  with  her  head  upon  her  white  hand,  thinking 
sadly  of  the  past. 

At  sight  of  him  in  deep  mourning,  she  started,  and 
said,  "  Oh  !  " 

Then  she  said  tenderly,  "  We  are  of  one  color  now," 
and  gave  him  her  hand. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  not  knowing  how  to  begin. 

".I  am  not  Tadcaster  now.     I  am  Earl  of  Miltshire." 

"Ah,  yes;  I  forgot,"  said  she  indifferently. 

"  This  is  my  first  visit  to  any  one  in  that  character." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  It  is  an  awfully  important  visit  to  me.  I  could  not 
feel  myself  independent,  and  able  to  secure  your  com- 
fort and  little  Christie's,  without  coming  to  the  lady,  the 
only  lady  I  ever  saw,  that  —  oh,  Mrs.  Staines  —  Rosa  — 
who  could  see  you,  as  I  have  done  —  mingle  his  tears 
with  yours,  as  I  have  done,  and  not  love  you,  and  long 
to  offer  you  his  love  ?  " 

"  Love !  to  me,  a  broken-hearted  woman,  with  nothing 
to  live  for  but  his  memory  and  his  child." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  scared  amazement. 

"  His  child  shall  be  mine.  His  memory  is  almost  as 
dear  to  me  as  to  you." 

"  Nonsense,  child,  nonsense !  "  said  she,  almost  sternly. 

"  Was  he  not  my  best  friend  ?  Should  I  have  the 
health  I  enjoy,  or  even  be  alive,  but  for  him  ?    Oh,  IVlrs. 


348  A  SIMPLETON. 

Staines  — E,osa,  yon  will  not  live  all  your  life  unmarried; 
and  who  will  love  you  as  I  do  ?  You  are  my  first  and 
only  love.     My  happiness  depends  on  you." 

"  Your  happiness  depend  on  me  !  Heaven  forbid  —  a 
woman  of  my  age,  that  feels  so  old,  old,  old." 

"  You  are  not  old ;  you  are  young,  and  sad,  and  beauti- 
ful, and  my  happiness  depends  on  you."  She  began  to 
tremble  a  little.  Then  he  kneeled  at  her  knees,  and  im- 
plored her,  and  his  hot  tears  fell  upon  the  hand  she  put 
out  to  stop  him,  while  she  turned  her  head  away,  and 
the  tears  began  to  run. 

Oh !  never  can  the  cold  dissecting  pen  tell  what  rushes 
over  the  heart  that  has  loved  and  lost,  when  another  true 
love  first  kneels  and  implores  for  love,  or  pity,  or  any- 
thing the  bereaved  can  give. 


A  SIAIPLETON.  349 


CHAPTEK  XXTII. 

When  Falcon  went,  luck  seemed  to  desert  their  claim  : 
day  after  day  went  by  without  a  find ;  and  the  discov- 
eries on  every  side  made  this  the  more  mortifying. 

By  this  time  the  diggers  at  Bulteel's  pan  were  as  mis- 
cellaneous as  the  audience  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  only 
mixed  more  closely;  the  gallery  folk  and  the  stalls 
worked  cheek  by  jowl.  Here  a  gentleman  with  an  af- 
fected lisp,  and  close  by  an  honest  fellow,  who  could  not 
deliver  a  sentence  Avithout  an  oath,  or  some  still  more 
horrible  expletive  that  meant  nothing  at  all  in  reality, 
but  served  to  make  respectable  flesh  creep :  interspersed 
with  these,  Hottentots,  Kafirs,  and  wild  blue  blacks 
gayly  clad  in  an  ostrich  feather,  a  scarlet  ribbon,  and  a 
Tower  musket  sold  them  by  some  good  Christian  for  a 
modern  rifle. 

On  one  side  of  Staines  were  two  swells,  who  lay  on 
their  backs  and  talked  opera  half  the  day,  but  seldom 
condescended  to  work  without  finding  a  diamond  of 
some  sort. 

After  a  week's  deplorable  luck,  his  Kafir  boy  struck 
work  on  account  of  a  sore  in  his  leg;  the  sore  was  due 
to  a  very  common  cause,  the  burning  sand  had  got  into 
a  scratch,  and  festered.  Staines,  out  of  humanity,  ex- 
amined the  sore ;  and  proceeding  to  clean  it,  before 
bandaging,  out  popped  a  diamond  worth  forty  pounds, 
even  in  the  depreciated  market.  Staines  quietly  pocketed 
it,  and  bandaged  the  leg.  This  made  him  suspect  his 
blacks  had  been  cheating  him  on  a  large  scale,  and  he 
borrowed  Hans  Bulteel  to  watch  them,  giving  him  a 


350  A  SIMPLETON. 

tliird,  with  wliicli  Master  Hans  was  mightily  pleased. 
But  they  covild  only  find  small  diamonds,  and  by  this 
time  prodigious  slices  of  luck  were  reported  on  every 
side.  Kafirs  and  Boers  that  Avould  not  dig,  but  traversed 
large  tracts  of  ground  when  the  sun  was  shining,  stumbled 
over  diamonds.  One  Boer  pointed  to  a  wagon  and  eight 
oxen,  and  said  that  one  lucky  glance  on  the  sand  had 
given  him  that  lot :  but  day  after  day  Staines  returned 
home,  covered  with  dust,  and  almost  blinded,  yet  with 
little  or  nothing  to  show  for  it. 

One  evening,  complaining  of  his  change  of  luck,  Bulteel 
quietly  proposed  to  him  migration.  "  I  am  going,"  said 
he  resignedly :  "  and  you  can  come  with  me." 

"  You  leave  your  farm,  sir  ?  Why,  they  pay  you  ten 
shillings  a  claim,  and  that  must  make  a  large  return; 
the  pan  is  fifteen  acres." 

"Yes,  mine  vriend,"  said  the  poor  Hollander,  "they 
pay;  but  deir  money  it  cost  too  dear.  Vere  is  mine 
peace  ?  Dis  farm  is  six  tousand  acres.  If  de  cursed 
diamonds  was  farther  off,  den  it  vas  veil.  But  dey  are 
too  near.  Once  I  could  smoke  in  peace,  and  zleep.  Now 
diamonds  is  come,  and  zleep  and  peace  is  fled.  Dere  is 
four  tousand  tents,  and  to  each  tent  a  dawg ;  dat  dawg 
bark  at  four  tousand  other  dawgs  all  night,  and  dey  bark 
at  him  and  at  each  oder.  Den  de  masters  of  de  dawgs  dey 
get  angry,  and  fire  four  tousand  pistole  at  de  four  tousand 
dawgs,  and  make  my  bed  shake  wid  the  trembling  of 
mine  vrow.  My  vamily  is  with  diamonds  infected.  Dey 
vill  not  vork.  Dey  takes  long  valks,  and  always  looks 
on  de  ground.  Mine  childre  shall  be  hump-backed, 
round-shouldered,  looking  down  for  diamonds.  Dey 
shall  forget  Gott.  He  is  on  high :  dere  eyes  are  always 
on  de  earth.  De  diggers  found  a  diamond  in  mine  plas- 
ter of  mine  wall  of  mine  house.  Dat  plaster  vas  lime- 
stone; it  come  from  dose  kopjes  de  good  Gott  made  in 


A   SEMPLETON".  351 

His  anger  against  man  for  his  vickedness.  I  zay  so. 
Dey  not  believe  me.  Dey  tink  dem  abominable  stones 
grow  in  mine  house,  and  break  out  in  mine  plaster  like 
de  measle :  dey  vaunt  to  dig  in  mine  wall,  in  mine  gar- 
den, in  mine  floor.  One  day  dey  shall  dig  in  mine  body. 
I  vill  go.  Better  I  love  peace  dan  money.  Here  is 
English  company  make  me  offer  for  mine  varm.  Dey 
forgive  de  diamonds." 

"  You  have  not  accepted  it  ?  "  cried  Staines  in  alarm. 

"No,  but  I  vill.  I  have  said  I  shall  tink  of  it.  Dat 
is  my  vay.     So  I  say  yah." 

"  An  English  company  ?  They  will  cheat  you  without 
mercy.  No,  they  shall  not,  though,  for  I  will  have  a 
hand  in  the  bargain." 

He  set  to  work  directly,  added  up  the  value  of  the 
claims,  at  ten  shillings  per  mouth,  and  amazed  the  poor 
Hollander  by  his  statement  of  the  value  of  those  fifteen 
acres,  capitalized. 

And  to  close  this  part  of  the  subject,  the  obnoxious 
diamonds  obtained  him  three  times  as  much  as  his  father 
had  given  for  the  whole  six  thousand  acres. 

The  company  got  a  great  bargain,  but  Bulteel  received 
what  for  him  was  a  large  capital,  and  settling  far  to  the 
south,  this  lineal  descendant  of  le  philosophe  sans  le 
savoir  carried  his  godliness,  his  cleanliness,  and  his  love 
of  peace,  out  of  the  turmoil,  and  was  happier  than  ever, 
since  now  he  could  compare  his  placid  existence  with 
one  year  of  noise  and  clamor. 

But  long  before  this,  events  more  pertinent  to  my 
story  had  occurred. 

One  day,  a  Hottentot  came  into  Bulteel's  farm  and 
went  out  among  the  diggers,  till  he  found  Staines.  The 
Hottentot  was  one  employed  at  Dale's  Kloof,  and  knew 
him.     He  brought  Staines  a  letter. 

Staines  opened  the  letter,  and  another  letter  fell  out; 
it  was  directed  to  "Reginald  Falcon,  Esq." 


352  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Why,"  thought  Staines,  "what  a  time  this  letter 
must  have  been  on  the  road  !  So  much  for  private  mess- 
engers." 

The  letter  ran  thus :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  This  leaves  us  all  well  at  Dale's  Kloof,  as  I 
hojje  it  shall  find  you  and  my  dear  husband  at  the  diggings. 
Sir,  I  am  happy  to  say  I  have  good  news  for  you.  When  you 
got  well  by  God's  mei'cy,  I  wrote  to  the  doctor  at  the  hospital 
and  told  him  so.  I  wrote  unbeknown  to  you,  because  I  had 
promised  him.  Well,  sir,  he  has  written  back  to  say  you  have 
two  hundred  pounds  in  money,  and  a  great  many  valuable 
things,  such  as  gold  and  jewels.  They  are  all  at  the  old  bank 
in  Cape  Town,  and  the  cashier  has  seen  you,  and  will  deliver 
them  on  demand.  So  that  is  the  first  of  my  good  news,  because 
it  is  good  news  to  you.  But,  dear  sir,  I  think  you  will  be 
pleased  to  hear  that  Dick  and  I  are  thriving  wonderfully, 
tlianks  to  your  good  advice.  The  wooden  house  it  is  built,  and 
a  great  oven.  But,  sir,  the  traffic  came  almost  before  we  were 
ready,  and  the  miners  that  call  here,  coming  and  going,  every 
day,  you  would  not  believe,  likewise  wagons  and  carts.  It  is 
all  bustle,  morn  till  night,  and  dear  Reginald  will  never  be 
dull  here  now ;  I  hope  you  will  be  so  kind  as  tell  him  so,  for 
1  do  long  to  see  you  both  home  again. 

Sir,  we  are  making  our  fortunes.  The  grain  we  could  not 
sell  at  a  fair  price,  we  sell  as  bread,  and  higher  than  in  England 
ever  so  much.  Tea  and  coftee  the  same ;  and  the  poor  things 
praise  us,  too,  for  being  so  moderate.  So,  sir,  Dick  bids  me 
say  that  we  owe  this  to  you,  and  if  so  be  you  are  minded  to 
share,  why  nothing  would  please  us  better.  Head-piece  is 
always  worth  money  in  these  parts  ;  and  if  it  hurts  your  pride 
to  be  our  partner  without  money,  why  you  can  throw  in  what 
you  have  at  the  Cape,  though  we  don't  ask  that.  And,  besides, 
we  are  offered  diamonds  a  bargain  every  day,  but  are  afraid  to 
deal,  for  want  of  experience ;  but  if  you  were  in  it  with  us,  j^ou 
must  know  them  well  by  this  time,  and  we  luight  turn  many  a 
good  pound  that  way.  Dear  sir,  I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended, 
but  I  think  this  is  the  only  way  we  have,  Dick  and  I,  to  show 
our  respect  and  good-will. 


A  SIMPLETON".  353 

Dear  sir,  digging  is  hard  work,  and  not  fit  for  you  and 
Reginald,  that  are  gentlemen,  amongst  a  lot  of  rough  fellows, 
that  their  talk  makes  my  hair  stand  on  end,  though  I  dare  say 
they  mean  no  harm. 

Your  bedroom  is  always  ready,  sir.  I  never  will  let  it  to 
any  of  them,  hoping  now  to  see  you  every  day.  You  that 
know  everything,  can  guess  how  I  long  to  see  you  both  home. 
My  very  good  fortune  seems  not  to  taste  like  good  fortune, 
without  those  I  love  and  esteem  to  share  it.  I  shall  count  how 
many  days  this  letter  will  take  to  reach  you,  and  then  I  shall 
pray  for  your  safety  harder  than  ever,  till  the  blessed  hour 
comes  when  I  see  my  husband,  and  my  good  friend,  never  to 
part  again,  I  hojie,  in  this  world. 

I  am  sir,  your  dutiful  servant  and  friend, 

Ph(ebe  Dale. 

P.S.  There  is  regular  travelling  to  and  from  Cape  Town, 
and  a  post  now  to  Pniel,  but  I  thought  it  surest  to  send  by  one 
that  knows  you. 

Staines  read  this  letter  with  great  satisfaction.  He 
remembered  his  two  hundred  pounds,  but  his  gold  and 
jewels  puzzled  him.  Still  it  was  good  news,  and  pleased 
him  not  a  little.  Phoebe's  good  fortune  gratified  him  too, 
and  her  offer  of  a  partnership,  especially  in  tlie  purchase 
of  diamonds  from  returning  diggers.  He  saw  a  large 
fortune  to  be  made;  and  wearied  and  disgusted  with 
recent  ill-luck,  blear-eyed  and  almost  blinded  with  sort- 
ing in  the  blazing  sun,  he  resolved  to  go  at  once  to  Dale's 
Kloof.  Should  Mrs.  Falcon  be  gone  to  England  with  the 
diamonds,  he  would  stay  there,  and  Eosa  should  come  out 
to  him,  or  he  would  go  and  fetch  her. 

He  went  home,  and  washed  himself,  and  told  Bulteel 
he  had  had  good  news,  and  should  leave  the  diggings  at 
once.  He  gave  him  up  the  claim,  and  told  him  to  sell 
it  by  auction.  It  was  worth  two  hundred  pounds  still. 
The  good  people  sympathized  witli  him,  and  ho  started 
within  an  hour.     He  left  his  pickaxe  and  shovel,  and 


354  A  SIMPLETON. 

took  only  his  double  rifle,  an  admirable  one,  some  ammu- 
nition, including  conical  bullets  and  projectile  shells 
given  him  by  Falcon,  a  bag  full  of  carbuncles  and  garnets 
he  had  collected  for  Ucatella,  a  few  small  diamonds,  and 
one  hiindred  pounds,  —  all  that  remained  to  him,  since 
he  had  been  paying  wages  and  other  things  for  months, 
and  had  given  Falcon  twenty  for  his  journey. 

He  rode  away  and  soon  put  twenty  miles  between  him 
and  the  diggings. 

He  came  to  a  little  store  that  bought  diamonds  and 
sold  groceries  and  tobacco.  He  haltered  his  horse  to  a 
hook,  and  went  in.  He  offered  a  small  diamond  for  sale. 
The  master  was  out,  and  the  assistant  said  there  was  a 
glut  of  these  small  stones,  he  did  not  care  to  give  money 
for  it. 

"Well,  give  me  three  dozen  cigars." 

While  they  were  chaffering,  in  walked  a  Hottentot,  and 
said,  "  Will  you  buy  this  ?  "  and  laid  a  clear,  glittering 
stone  on  the  counter,  as  large  as  a  walnut. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man.     "  How  much  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  pounds." 

"Two  hundred  pounds  !  Let  us  look  at  it;"  he  exam- 
ined it,  and  said  he  thought  it  was  a  diamond,  but  these 
large  stones  were  so  deceitful,  he  dared  not  give  two 
hundred  pounds.  "Come  again  in  an  hour,"  said  he, 
"  then  the  master  will  be  in." 

"  No,"  said  the  Hottentot  quietly,  and  walked  out. 

Staines,  who  had  been  literally  perspiring  at  the  sight 
of  this  stone,  mounted  his  horse  and  followed  the  man. 
When  he  came  up  to  him,  he  asked  leave  to  examine  the 
gem.     The  Hottentot  quietly  assented. 

Staines  looked  at  it  all  over.  It  had  a  rough  side  and 
a  polished  side,  and  the  latter  was  of  amazing  softness 
and  lustre.  It  made  him  tremble.  He  said,  "Look  here, 
I  have  only  one  hundred  pounds  in  my  pocket." 


A  SIMPLETON.  355 

The  Hottentot  shook  his  head. 

"  But  if  you  will  go  back  with  me  to  Bulteel's  farm, 
I'll  borrow  the  other  hundred." 

The  Hottentot  declined,  and  told  him  he  could  get  four 
hundred  pounds  for  it  by  going  back  to  Pniel.  "  But," 
said  he,  "  my  face  is  turned  so ;  and  when  Squat  turn  his 
face  so,  he  going  home.  Kot  can  bear  go  the  other  way 
then,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  diamond. 

Staines  gave  it  him,  and  was  in  despair  at  seeing  such 
a  prize  so  near,  yet  leaving  him. 

He  made  one  more  effort.  "  Well,  but,"  said  he,  "  how 
far  are  you  going  this  way  ?  " 

"Ten  days." 

"  Why,  so  am  I.  Come  with  me  to  Dale's  Kloof,  and 
I  will  give  the  other  hundred.  See,  I  am  in  earnest,  for 
here  is  one  hundred,  at  all  events." 

Staines  made  this  proposal,  trembling  with  excitement. 
To  his  surprise  and  joy,  the  Hottentot  assented,  though 
with  an  air  of  indifference ;  and  on  these  terms  they  be- 
came fellow-travellers,  and  Staines  gave  him  a  cigar. 
They  went  on  side  by  side,  and  halted  for  the  night  forty 
miles  from  Bulteel's  farm. 

They  slept  in  a  Boer's  out-house,  and  the  vrow  was 
civil,  and  lent  Staines  a  jackal's  skin.  In  the  morning 
he  bought  it  for  a  diamond,  a  carbuncle,  and  a  score  of 
garnets ;  for  a  horrible  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  if 
they  stopped  at  any  place  where  miners  were,  somebody 
might  buy  the  great  diamond  over  his  head.  This  fear, 
and  others,  grew  on  him,  and  with  all  his  philosophy  he 
went  on  thorns,  and  was  the  slave  of  the  diamond. 

He  resolved  to  keep  his  Hottentot  all  to  himself  if 
possible.  He  shot  a  springbok  that  crossed  the  road, 
and  they  roasted  a  portion  of  the  animal,  and  the  Hotten- 
tot carried  some  on  with  him. 

Seeing  he  admired  the  riflC;  Staines  offered  it  him  for 


356  A  SIMPLETON. 

the  odd  hundred  pounds ;  but  though  Squat's  eye  glittered 
a  moment,  he  declined. 

rinding  that  they  met  too  many  diggers  and  carts, 
Staines  asked  his  Hottentot  was  there  no  nearer  way  to 
reach  that  star,  pointing  to  one  he  knew  was  just  over 
Dale's  Kloof. 

Oh,  yes,  he  knew  a  nearer  way,  where  there  were  trees, 
and  shade,  and  grass,  and  many  beasts  to  shoot. 

"  Let  us  take  that  way,"  said  Staines. 

The  Hottentot,  ductile  as  wax,  except  about  the  price 
of  the  diamond,  assented  calmly ;  and  next  day  they 
diverged,  and  got  into  forest  scenery,  and  their  eyes  were 
soothed  with  green  glades  here  and  there,  wherever  the 
clumps  of  trees  sheltered  the  grass  from  the  panting  sun. 
Animals  abounded,  and  were  tame.  Staines,  an  excellent 
marksman,  shot  the  Hottentot  his  supper  without  any 
trouble. 

Sleeping  in  the  wood,  with  not  a  creature  near  but 
Squat,  a  sombre  thought  struck  Staines.  Suppose  this 
Hottentot  should  assassinate  him  for  his  money,  who 
would  ever  know  ?  The  thought  was  horrible,  and  he 
awoke  with  a  start  ten  times  that  night.  The  Hottentot 
slept  like  a  stone,  and  never  feared  for  his  own  life  and 
precious  booty.  Staines  was  compelled  to  own  to  himself 
he  had  less  faith  in  human  goodness  than  the  savage  had. 
He  said  to  himself,  "He  is  my  superior.  He  is  the  master 
of  this  dreadful  diamond,  and  I  am  its  slave." 

Next  day  they  went  on  till  noon,  and  then  they  halted 
at  a  really  delightful  spot;  a  silver  kloof  ran  along  a 
bottom,  and  there  was  a  little  clump  of  three  acacia-trees 
that  lowered  their  long  tresses,  pining  for  the  stream, 
and  sometimes  getting  a  cool  grateful  kiss  from  it  when 
the  water  was  high. 

They  halted  the  horse,  bathed  in  the  stream,  and  lay 
luxurious  under  the  acacias.  All  was  delicious  languor 
and  enjoyment  of  life. 


A  SIMPLETON.  357 

The  Hottentot  made  a  fire,  and  burnt  the  remains  of  a 
little  sort  of  kangaroo  Staines  had  shot  him  the  evening 
before ;  but  it  did  not  suflBce  his  maw,  and  looking  about 
him,  he  saw  three  elands  leisurely  feeding  about  three 
hundred  yards  off.  They  were  cropping  the  rich  herbage 
close  to  the  shelter  of  a  wood. 

The  Hottentot  suggested  that  this  was  an  excellent 
opportunity.  He  would  borrow  Staines's  rifle,  steal  into 
the  wood,  crawl  on  his  belly  close  up  to  them,  and  send 
a  bullet  through  one. 

Staines  did  not  relish  the  proposal.  He  had  seen  the 
savage's  eye  repeatedly  gloat  on  the  rifle,  and  was  not 
without  hopes  he  might  even  yet  relent,  and  give  the 
great  diamond  for  the  hundred  pounds  and  this  rifle : 
and  he  was  so  demoralized  by  the  diamond,  and  filled 
with  suspicion,  that  he  feared  the  savage,  if  he  once  had 
the  rifle  in  his  possession,  might  levant,  and  be  seen  no 
more,  in  which  case  he,  Staines,  still  the  slave  of  the 
diamond,  might  hang  himself  on  the  nearest  tree,  and  so 
secure  his  Rosa  the  insurance  money,  at  all  events.  In 
short,  he  had  really  diamond  on  the  brain. 

He  hem'd  and  haw'd  a  little  at  Squat's  proposal,  and 
then  got  out  of  it  by  saying,  "  That  is  not  necessary.  I 
can  shoot  it  from  here." 

"  It  is  too  far,"  objected  Blacky. 

"  Too  far !  This  is  an  Enfield  rifle.  I  could  kill  the 
poor  beast  at  three  times  that  distance." 

Blacky  was  amazed.  "  An  Enfield  rifle,"  said  he,  in 
the  soft  musical  murmur  of  his  tribe,  which  is  the  one 
charm  of  the  poor  Hottentot;  "and  shoot  three  times 
so  far." 

"Yes,"  said  Christopher.  Then,  seeing  his  compan- 
ion's hesitation,  he  conceived  a  hope.  "  If  I  kill  that 
eland  from  here,  will  you  give  me  the  diamond  for  my 
horse  and  the  wonderful  rifle?  —  no  Hottentot  has  such 
a  rifle." 


368  A  SIMPLETON. 

Squat  became  cold  directly.  "  The  price  of  the  dia- 
mond is  two  hundred  pounds." 

Staines  groaned  with  disappointment,  and  thought  to 
himself  with  rage,  "Anybody  but  me  would  club  the 
rifle,  give  the  obstinate  black  brute  a  stunner,  and  take 
the  diamond  —  God  forgive  me  ! " 

Says  the  Hottentot  cunningly,  "I  can't  think  so  far 
as  white  man.  Let  me  see  the  eland  dead,  and  then  I 
shall  know  how  far  the  rifle  shoot." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Staines.  But  he  felt  sure  the 
savage  only  wanted  his  meal,  and  would  never  part  with 
the  diamond,  except  for  the  odd  money. 

However,  he  loaded  his  left  barrel  with  one  of  the 
explosive  projectiles  Falcon  had  given  him ;  it  was  a 
little  fulminating  shell  with  a  steel  point.  It  was  with 
this  barrel  he  had  shot  the  murcat  overnight,  and  he  had 
found  he  shot  better  with  this  barrel  than  the  other. 
He  loaded  his  left  barrel  then,  saw  the  powder  well  up, 
capped  it  and  cut  away  a  strip  of  the  acacia  with  his 
knife  to  see  clear,  and  lying  down  in  volunteer  fashion, 
elbow  on  ground,  drew  his' bead  steadily  on  an  eland 
who  presented  him  her  broadside,  her  back  being  turned 
to  the  wood.  The  sun  shone  on  her  soft  coat,  and  never 
was  a  fairer  mark,  the  sportsman's  deadly  eye  being  in 
the  cool  shade,  the  animal  in  the  sun. 

He  aimed  long  and  steadily.  But  just  as  he  was  about 
to  pull  the  trigger.  Mind  interposed,  and  he  lowered  the 
deadly  weapon.  "  Poor  creature  ! "  he  said,  "  I  am  going 
to  take  her  life  —  for  what  ?  for  a  single  meal.  She  is 
as  big  as  a  pony ;  and  I  am  to  lay  her  carcass  on  the 
plain,  that  we  may  eat  two  pounds  of  it.  This  is  how 
the  weasel  kills  the  rabbit ;  sucks  an  ounce  of  blood  for 
his  food,  and  wastes  the  rest.  So  the  demoralized  sheep- 
dog tears  out  the  poor  creature's  kidneys,  and  wastes  the 
rest.     Man,  armed  by  science  with  such  powers  of  slay^ 


A  SIMPLETON".  359 

ing,  should  be  less  egotistical  tlian  weasels  and  perverted 
sheep-dogs.  I  will  not  kill  her.  I  will  not  lay  that 
beautiful  body  of  hers  low,  and  glaze  those  tender,  loving 
eyes  that  never  gleamed  with  hate  or  rage  at  man,  and 
fix  those  innocent  jaws  that  never  bit  the  life  out  of 
anything,  not  even  of  the  grass  she  feeds  on,  and  does  it 
more  good  than  harm.  Feed  on,  poor  innocent.  And 
you  be  blanked  ;  you  and  your  diamond,  that  I  begin  to 
wish  I  had  never  seen ;  for  it  would  corrupt  an  angel." 

Squat  understood  one  word  in  ten,  but  he  managed  to 
reply.  "  This  is  nonsense-talk,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  The 
life  is  no  bigger  in  that  than  in  the  murcat  you  shot  last 
shoot." 

"  No  more  it  is,"  said  Staines.  "  I  am  a  fool.  It  is 
come  to  this,  then ;  Kafirs  teach  us  theology,  and  Hotten- 
tots morality.  I  bow  to  my  intellectual  superior.  I'll 
shoot  the  eland."     He  raised  his  rifle  again. 

"  No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,"  murmured  the  Hottentot,  in 
a  sweet  voice  scarcely  audible,  yet  so  keen  in  its  entreaty, 
that  Staines  turned  hastily  round  to  look  at  him.  His 
face  was  ashy,  his  teeth  chattering,  his  limbs  shaking. 
Before  Staines  could  ask  him  what  was  the  matter,  he 
pointed  through  an  aperture  of  the  acacias  into  the 
wood  hard  by  the  elands.  Staines  looked,  and  saw  what 
seemed  to  him  like  a  very  long  dog,  or  some  such  animal, 
crawling  from  tree  to  tree.  He  did  not  at  all  share  the 
terror  of  his  companion,  nor  understand  it.  But  a  terri- 
ble explanation  followed.  This  creature,  having  got  to 
the  skirt  of  the  wood,  expanded,  by  some  strange  magic, 
to  an  incredible  size,  and  sprang  into  the  open,  with  a 
growl,  a  mighty  lion;  he  seemed  to  ricochet  from  the 
ground,  so  immense  was  his  second  bound,  that  carried 
him  to  the  eland,  and  he  struck  her  one  blow  on  the 
head  with  his  terrible  paw,  and  felled  her  as  if  with  a 
thunderbolt:   down  went  her  body,   with  all  the  legs 


360  A   SIMPLETON. 

doubled,  and  her  poor  head  turned  over,  and  the  nose 
kissed  the  ground.  The  lion  stood  motionless.  Pres- 
ently the  eland,  who  was  not  dead,  but  stunned,  began 
to  recover  and  struggle  feebly  up.  Then  the  lion  sprang 
on  her  with  a  roar,  and  rolled  her  over,  and  with  two 
tremendous  bites  and  a  shake,  tore  her  entrails  out  and 
laid  her  dying.  He  sat  composedly  down,  and  contem- 
plated her  last  convulsions,  without  touching  her  again. 

At  this  roar,  though  not  loud,  the  horse,  though  he 
had  never  heard  or  seen  a  lion,  trembled,  and  pulled  at 
his  halter. 

Blacky  crept  into  the  water ;  and  Staines  was  struck 
with  such  an  awe  as  he  had  never  felt.  Nevertheless, 
the  king  of  beasts  being  at  a  distance,  and  occupied,  and 
Staines  a  brave  man,  and  out  of  sight,  he  kept  his  ground 
and  watched,  and  by  those  means  saw  a  sight  never  to 
be  forgotten.  The  lion  rose  up,  and  stood  in  the  sun 
incredibly  beautiful  as  well  as  terrible.  He  was  not  the 
mangy  hue  of  the  caged  lion,  but  a  skin  tawny,  golden, 
glossy  as  a  race-horse,  and  of  exquisite  tint  that  shone 
like  pure  gold  in  the  sun ;  his  eye  a  lustrous  jewel  of 
richest  hue,  and  his  mane  sublime.  He  looked  towards 
the  wood,  and  uttered  a  full  roar.  This  was  so  tremen- 
dous that  the  horse  shook  all  over  as  if  in  an  ague,  and 
began  to  lather.  Staines  recoiled,  and  his  flesh  crept, 
and  the  Hottentot  went  under  water,  and  did  not  emerge 
for  ever  so  long. 

After  a  pause,  the  lion  roared  again,  and  all  the  beasts 
and  birds  of  prey  seemed  to  know  the  meaning  of  that 
terrible  roar.  Till  then  the  place  had  been  a  solitude, 
but  now  it  began  to  fill  in  the  strangest  way,  as  if  the 
lord  of  the  forest  could  call  all  his  subjects  together 
w^ith  a  trumpet  roar :  first  came  two  lion  cubs,  to  whom, 
in  fact,  the  roar  had  been  addressed.  The  lion  rubbed 
himself  several  times  against  the  eland,  but  did  not  eat 


A   SIMPLETON.  361 

a  morsel,  and  the  cubs  went  in  and  feasted  on  the  prey. 
The  lion  politely  and  paternally  drew  back,  and  watched 
the  young  people  enjoying  themselves. 

Meantime  approached,  on  tiptoe,  jackals  and  hyenas, 
but  dared  not  come  too  near.  Slate-colored  ^ixltures 
settled  at  a  little  distance,  but  not  a  soul  dared  interfere 
with  the  cubs;  they  saw  the  lion  was  acting  sentinel, 
and  they  knew  better  than  come  near. 

After  a  time,  papa  feared  for  the  digestion  of  those 
brats,  or  else  his  own  mouth  watered ;  for  he  came  up, 
knocked  them  head  over  heels  with  his  velvet  paw,  and 
they  took  the  gentle  hint,  and  ran  into  the  wood  double 
quick. 

Then  the  lion  began  tearing  away  at  the  eland,  and 
bolting  huge  morsels  greedily.  This  made  the  rabble's 
mouth  water.  The  hyenas,  and  jackals,  and  vultures 
formed  a  circle  ludicrous  to  behold,  and  that  circle  kept 
narrowing  as  the  lion  tore  away  at  his  prey.  They 
increased  in  number,  and  at  last  hunger  overcame  pru- 
dence ;  the  rear  rank  shoved  on  the  front,  as  amongst 
men,  and  a  general  attack  seemed  imminent. 

Then  the  lion  looked  up  at  these  invaders,  uttered  a 
reproachful  growl,  and  went  at  them,  patting  them  right 
and  left,  and  knocking  them  over.  He  never  touched  a 
vulture,  nor  indeed  did  he  kill  an  animal.  He  was 
a  lion,  and  only  killed  to  eat ;  yet  he  soon  cleared  the 
place,  because  he  knocked  over  a  few  hyenas  and  jackals, 
and  the  rest,  being  active,  tumbled  over  the  vultures  before 
they  could  spread  their  heavy  wings.  After  this  warning, 
they  made  a  respectful  circle  again,  through  which,  in 
due  course,  the  gorged  lion  stalked  into  the  wood. 

A  savage's  sentiments  change  quickly,  and  the  Hotten- 
tot, fearing  little  from  a  full  lion,  was  now  giggling  at 
Staines's  side.  Staines  asked  him  which  he  thought  was 
the  lord  of  all  creatures,  a  man  or  a  lion. 


362  A  SIMPLETON. 

"A  lion,"  said  Blacky,  amazed  at  such  a  shallow 
question. 

Staines  now  got  up,  and  proposed  to  continue  their 
journey.  But  Blacky  was  for  waiting  till  the  lion  was 
gone  to  sleep  after  his  meal. 

While  they  discussed  the  question,  the  lion  burst  out 
of  the  wood  within  hearing  of  their  voices,  as  his 
pricked-up  ears  showed,  and  made  straight  for  them  at 
a  distance  of  scarcely  thirty  yards. 

Now,  the  chances  are,  the  lion  knew  nothing  about 
them,  and  only  came  to  drink  at  the  kloof,  after  his 
meal,  and  perhaps  lie  under  the  acacias  :  but  who  can 
think  calmly,  when  his  first  lion  bursts  out  on  him  a 
few  paces  off  ?  Staines  shouldered  his  rifle,  took  a  hasty, 
flurried  aim,  and  sent  a  bullet  at  him. 

If  he  had  missed  him,  perhaps  the  report  might  have 
turned  the  lion ;  but  he  wounded  him,  and  not  mortally. 
Instantly  the  enraged  beast  uttered  a  terrific  roar,  and 
came  at  him  with  his  mane  distended  with  rage,  his  eyes 
glaring,  his  mouth  open,  and  his  whole  body  dilated  with 
fury. 

At  that  terrible  moment,  Staines  recovered  his  wits 
enough  to  see  that  what  little  chance  he  had  was  to  fire 
into  the  destroyer,  not  at  him.  He  kneeled,  and  levelled 
at  the  centre  of  the  lion's  chest,  and  not  till  he  was 
within  five  yards  did  he  fire.  Through  the  smoke  he 
saw  the  lion  in  the  air  above  him,  and  rolled  shrieking 
into  the  stream  and  crawled  like  a  worm  under  the  bank, 
by  one  motion,  and  there  lay  trembling.  A  few  seconds 
of  sick  stupor  passed  :  all  was  silent.  Had  the  lion  lost 
him  ?    Was  it  possible  he  might  yet  escape  ? 

All  was  silent. 

He  listened,  in  agony,  for  the  sniffing  of  the  lion,  puz- 
zling him  out  by  scent. 

No :  all  was  silent. 


"M-  ■■■■ 


■  ■  V  (  ■•■, 


.  ,^; 


v^ 


•^ 


NOT    TILL    HK    WAS    WITHIN'    ITVE    YARDS    DID    HE    FIRE. 


A  SIMPLETON.  363 

Staines  looked  round,  and  saw  a  woolly  head,  and  two 
saucer  eyes  and  open  nostrils  close  by  him.  It  was  the 
Hottentot,  more  dead  than  alive. 

Staines  whispered  him,  "  I  think  he  is  gone." 

The  Hottentot  whispered,  '•  Gone  a  little  way  to  watch. 
He  is  wise  as  well  as  strong."  With  this  he  disappeared 
beneath  the  water. 

Still  no  sound  but  the  screaming  of  the  vultures,  and 
snarling  of  the  hyenas  and  jackals  over  the  eland. 

"  Take  a  look,"  said  Staines. 

"  Yes,"  said  Squat ;  "  but  not  to-day.  Wait  here  a  day 
or  two.     Den  he  forget  and  forgive." 

Now  Staines,  having  seen  the  lion  lie  down  and  watch 
the  dying  eland,  was  a  great  deal  impressed  by  this  ; 
and  as  he  had  now  good  hopes  of  saving  his  life,  he 
would  not  throw  away  a  chance.  He  kept  his  head  just 
above  water,  and  never  moved. 

In  this  freezing  situation  they  remained. 

Presently  there  was  a  rustling  that  made  both  crouch. 

It  was  followed  by  a  croaking  noise. 

Christopher  made  himself  small. 

The  Hottentot,  on  the  contrary,  raised  his  head,  and 
ventured  a  little  way  into  the  stream. 

By  these  means  he  saw  it  was  something  very  foul, 
but  not  terrible.  It  was  a  large  vulture  that  had  settled 
on  the  very  top  of  the  nearest  acacia. 

At  this  the  Hottentot  got  bolder  still,  and  to  the  great 
surprise  of  Staines  began  to  crawl  cautiously  into  some 
rushes,  and  through  them  up  the  bank. 

The  next  moment  he  burst  into  a  mixture  of  yelling 
and  chirping  and  singing,  and  other  sounds  so  manifestly 
jubilant,  that  the  vulture  flapped  hea^'ily  away,  and 
Staines  emerged  in  turn,  but  very  cautiously. 

Could  he  believe  his  eyes  ?  There  lay  the  lion,  dead 
as  a  stone,  on  his  back,  with  his  four  legs  in  the  air,  like 


364  A   SBIPLETON. 

wooden  legs,  they  were  so  very  dead :  and  the  valiant 
Squat,  dancing  about  him,  and  on  him,  and  over  him. 

Staines,  unable  to  change  his  sentiments  so  quickly, 
eyed  even  the  dead  body  of  the  royal  beast  with  awe  and 
wonder.  What !  had  he  already  laid  that  terrible  mon- 
arch low,  and  with  a  tube  made  in  a  London  shop  by  men 
who  never  saw  a  lion  spring,  nor  heard  his  awful  roar 
shake  the  air  ?  He  stood  with  his  heart  still  beating, 
and  said  not  a  word.  The  shallow  Hottentot  whipped 
out  a  large  knife,  and  began  to  skin  the  king  of  beasts. 
Staines  wondered  he  could  so  profane  that  masterpiece 
of  nature.  He  felt  more  inclined  to  thank  God  for  so 
great  a  preservation,  and  then  pass  reverently  on,  and 
leave  the  dead  king  undesecrated. 

He  was  roused  from  his  solemn  thoughts  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  there  might  be  a  lioness  about,  since  there  were 
cubs :  he  took  a  piece  of  paper,  emptied  his  remaining 
powder  into  it,  and  proceeded  to  dry  it  in  the  sun.  This 
was  soon  done,  and  then  he  loaded  both  barrels. 

By  this  time  the  adroit  Hottentot  had  flayed  the  car- 
cass sufficiently  to  reveal  the  mortal  injury.  The  pro- 
jectile had  entered  the  chest,  and  slanting  upwards,  had 
burst  among  the  vitals,  reducing  them  to  a  gory  pulp. 
The  lion  must  have  died  in  the  air,  when  he  bounded  on 
receiving  the  fatal  shot. 

The  Hottentot  uttered  a  cry  of  admiration.  "  Not  the 
lion  king  of  all,  nor  even  the  white  man/'  he  said ;  "  but 
Enfeel  rifle  ! " 

Staines's  eyes  glittered.  "  You  shall  have  it,  and  the 
horse,  for  your  diamond,"  said  he  eagerly. 

The  black  seemed  a  little  shaken ;  but  did  not  reply. 
He  got  out  of  it  by  going  on  with  his  lion ;  and  Staines 
eyed  him,  and  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  not  getting 
the  diamond  even  on  these  terms.  He  began  to  feel  he 
should  never  get  it :  they  were  near  the  high-road  j  he 


A  SEVIPLETOK.  365 

could  not  keep  the  Hottentot  to  himself  much  longer. 
He  felt  sick  at  heart.  He  had  wild  and  wicked  thoughts ; 
half  hoped  the  lioness  would  come  and  kill  the  Hotten- 
tot, and  liberate  the  jewel  that  possessed  his  soul. 

At  last  the  skin  was  off,  and  the  Hottentot  said,  "  Me 
take  this  to  my  kraal,  and  dey  all  say,  '  Squat  a  great 
shooter  ;  kill  um  lion.'  " 

Then  Staines  saw  another  chance  for  him,  and  sum- 
moned all  his  address  for  a  last  effort.  "  No,  Squat," 
said  he,  *'  that  skin  belongs  to  me.  I  shot  the  lion,  with 
the  only  rifle  that  can  kill  a  lion  like  a  cat.  Yet  you 
would  not  give  me  a  diamond  —  a  paltry  stone  for  it. 
No,  Squat,  if  you  were  to  go  into  your  village  with  that 
lion's  skin,  why  the  old  men  would  bend  their  heads  to 
you,  and  say,  '  Great  is  Squat !  He  killed  the  lion,  and 
wears  his  skin.'  The  young  women  would  all  fight  which 
should  be  the  wife  of  Squat.  Squat  would  be  king  of 
the  village." 

Squat's  eyes  began  to  roll. 

"  And  shall  I  give  the  skin,  and  the  glory  that  is  my 
due,  to  an  ill-natured  fellow,  who  refuses  me  his  paltry 
diamond  for  a  good  horse  —  look  at  him  —  and  for  the 
rifle  that  kills  lions  like  rabbits  —  behold  it ;  and  a  hun- 
dred pounds  in  good  gold  and  Dutch  notes  —  see ;  and 
for  the  lion's  skin,  and  glory,  and  honor,  and  a  rich  wife, 
and  to  be  king  of  Africa  ?     Never  ! " 

The  Hottentot's  hands  and  toes  began  to  work  convul- 
sively. "  Good  master,  Squat  ask  pardon.  Squat  was 
blind.  Squat  will  give  the  diamond,  the  great  diamond 
of  Africa,  for  the  lion's  skin,  and  the  king  rifle,  and  the 
little  horse,  and  the  gold,  and  Dutch  notes  every  one  of 
them.     Dat  make  just  two  hundred  pounds." 

"More  like  four  hundred,"  cried  Staines  very  loud. 
"And  how  do  I  know  it  is  a  diamond?  These  large 
stones  are  the  most  deceitful.  Show  it  me,  this  instant," 
said  he  imperiously. 


366  A  SIMPLETON. 

"Iss,  master,"  said  the  cruslied  Hottentot^  with  the 
voice  of  a  mouse,  and  put  the  stone  into  his  hand  with 
a  child-like  faith  that  almost  melted  Staines ;  but  he 
saw  he  must  be  firm.  "  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  "  he 
bawled. 

"Master,"  said  poor  Squat,  in  deprecating  tones,  "my 
little  master  at  the  farm  wanted  plaster.  He  send  to 
Bulteel's  pan;  dere  was  large  lumps.  Squat  say  to 
miners,  '  May  we  take  de  large  lumps  ?  Dey  say,  '  Yes ; 
take  de  cursed  lumps  we  no  can  break.'  We  took  de 
cursed  lumps.  We  ride  'em  in  de  cart  to  farm  twenty 
milses.  I  beat  'em  with  my  hammer.  Dey  is  very  hard. 
More  dey  break  my  heart  dan  I  break  their  cursed  heads. 
One  day  I  use  strong  words,  like  white  man,  and  I  hit 
one  large  lump  too  hard ;  he  break,  and  out  come  de 
white  clear  stone.  Iss,  him  diamond.  Long  time  we 
know  him  in  our  kraal,  because  he  hard.  Long  time 
before  ever  white  man  know  him,  tousand  years  ago,  we 
find  him,  and  he  make  us  lilly  hole  in  big  stone  for  make 
wheat  dust.     Him  a  diamond,  blank  my  eyes  !  " 

This  was  intended  as  a  solemn  form  of  asseveration 
adapted  to  the  white  man's  habits. 

Yes,  reader,  he  told  the  truth ;  and  strange  to  say,  the 
miners  knew  the  largest  stones  were  in  these  great  lumps 
of  carbonate,  but  then  the  lumps  were  so  cruelly  hard, 
they  lost  all  patience  with  them,  and  so,  finding  it  was 
no  use  to  break  some  of  them,  and  not  all,  they  rejected 
them  all,  with  curses;  and  thus  this  great  stone  was 
carted  away  as  rubbish  from  the  mine,  and  found,  like  a 
toad  in  a  hole,  by  Squat. 

"  Well,"  said  Christopher,  "  after  all,  you  are  an  hon- 
est fellow,  and  I  think  I  will  buy  it ;  but  first  you  must 
show  me  out  of  this  wood ;  I  am  not  going  to  be  eaten 
alive  in  it  for  want  of  the  king  of  rifles." 

Squat   assented   eagerly,   and  they   started   at   once. 


A     SIMPLETON.  367 

They  passed  the  skeleton  of  the  eland ;  its  very  bones 
were  polished,  and  its  head  carried  into  the  wood ;  and 
looking  back  they  saw  vultures  busy  on  the  lion.  They 
soon  cleared  the  wood. 

Squat  handed  Staines  the  diamond  —  when  it  touched 
his  hand,  as  his  own,  a  bolt  of  ice  seemed  to  run  down 
his  back,  and  hot  water  to  follow  it  —  and  the  money, 
horse,  rifle,  and  skin  were  made  over  to  Squat. 

"  Shake  hands  over  it,  Squat,"  said  Staines ;  "  you  are 
hard,  but  you  are  honest." 

"  Iss,  master,  I  a  good  much  hard  and  honest/'  said 
Squat. 

"  Good-by,  old  fellow." 

"  Good-by,  master." 

And  Squat  strutted  away,  with  the  halter  in  his  hand, 
horse  following  him,  rifle  under  his  arm,  and  the  lion's 
skin  over  his  shoulders,  and  the  tail  trailing,  a  figure  sub- 
lime in  his  own  eyes,  ridiculous  in  creation's.  So  vanity 
triumphed,  even  in  the  wilds  of  Africa. 

Staines  hurried  forward  on  foot,  loading  his  revolver 
as  he  went,  for  the  very  vicinity  of  the  wood  alarmed 
him  now  that  he  had  parted  with  his  trusty  rifle. 

That  night  he  lay  down  on  the  open  veldt,  in  his 
jackal's  skin,  with  no  weapon  but  his  revolver,  and  woke 
with  a  start  a  dozen  times.  Just  before  daybreak  he 
scanned  the  stars  carefully,  and  noting  exactly  where 
the  sun  rose,  made  a  rough  guess  at  his  course,  and  fol- 
lowed it  till  the  sun  was  too  hot ;  then  he  crept  under  a 
ragged  bush,  hung  up  his  jackal's  skin,  and  sweated 
there,  parched  with  thirst,  and  gnawed  with  hunger. 
When  it  was  cooler,  he  crept  on,  and  found  water,  but  no 
food.  He  was  in  torture,  and  began  to  be  frightened, 
for  he  was  in  a  desert.  He  found  an  ostrich  egg  and 
ate  it  ravenously. 

Next  day,  hunger  took  a  new  form,  faintness.     He 


368  A   SIMPLETON. 

could  not  walk  for  it ;  his  jackal's  skin  oppressed  him ; 
he  lay  down  exhausted.  A  horror  seized  his  dejected 
soul.  The  diamond !  It  would  be  his  death.  No  man 
must  so  long  for  any  earthly  thing  as  he  had  for  this 
glittering  traitor.  "  Oh  !  my  good  horse  !  my  trusty 
rifle  ! "  he  cried.  "  For  what  have  I  thrown  you  away  ? 
For  starvation.  Misers  have  been  found  stretched  over 
their  gold;  and  some  day  my  skeleton  will  be  found, 
and  nothing  to  tell  the  base  death  I  died  of  and  de- 
served ;  nothing  but  the  cursed  diamond.  Ay,  fiend, 
glare  in  my  eyes,  do  ! "  He  felt  delirium  creeping  over 
him ;  and  at  that  a  new  terror  froze  him.  His  reason, 
that  he  had  lost  once,  was  he  to  lose  it  again  ?  He 
prayed;  he  wept;  he  dozed,  and  forgot  all.  When  he 
woke  again,  a  cool  air  was  fanning  his  cheeks ;  it  revived 
him  a  little ;  it  became  almost  a  breeze. 

And  this  breeze,  as  it  happened,  carried  on  its  wings 
the  curse  of  Africa.  There  loomed  in  the  north-west  a 
cloud  of  singular  density,  that  seemed  to  expand  in  size 
as  it  drew  nearer,  yet  to  be  still  more  solid,  and  darken 
the  air.  It  seemed  a  dust-storm.  Staines  took  out  his 
handkerchief,  prepared  to  wrap  his  face  in  it,  not  to  be 
stifled. 

But  soon  there  was  a  whirring  and  a  whizzing,  and 
hundreds  of  locusts  flew  over  his  head ;  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  thousands,  the  swiftest  of  the  mighty  host. 
They  thickened  and  thickened,  till  the  air  looked  solid, 
and  even  that  glaring  sun  was  blackened  by  the  rushing 
mass.  Birds  of  all  sorts  whirled  above,  and  swoojsed 
among  them.  They  peppered  Staines  all  over  like  shot. 
They  stuck  in  his  beard,  and  all  over  him ;  they  clogged 
the  bushes,  carpeted  the  ground,  while  the  darkened  air 
sang  as  with  the  whirl  of  machinery.  Every  bird  in  the 
air,  and  beast  of  the  field,  granivorous  or  carnivorous, 
was  gorged  with  them ;  and  to  these  animals  was  added 


A  SBIPLETON.  369 

man,  for  Staines,  being  famished,  and  remembering  the 
vrow  Bulteel,  lighted  a  fire,  and  roasted  a  handful  or 
two  on  a  flat  stone ;  they  were  delicious.  The  lire  once 
lighted,  they  cooked  themselves,  for  they  kept  flying 
into  it.  Three  hours,  without  interruption,  did  they 
darken  nature,  and,  before  the  column  ceased,  all  the 
beasts  of  the  field  came  after,  gorging  them  so  recklessly, 
that  Staines  could  have  shot  an  antelope  dead  with  his 
pistol  within  a  yard  of  him. 

But  to  tell  the  horrible  truth,  the  cooked  locusts  were 
so  nice  that  he  preferred  to  gorge  on  them  along  with 
the  other  animals. 

He  roasted  another  lot,  for  future  use,  and  marched  on 
with  a  good  heart. 

But  now  he  got  on  some  rough,  scrubby  ground,  and 
damaged  his  shoes,  and  tore  his  trousers. 

This  lasted  a  terrible  distance ;  but  at  the  end  of  it 
came  the  usual  arid  ground ;  and  at  last  he  came  upon 
the  track  of  wheels  and  hoofs.  He  struck  it  at  an  acute 
angle,  and  that  showed  him  he  had  made  a  good  line. 
He  limped  along  it  a  little  way,  slowly,  being  footsore. 

By  and  by,  looking  back,  he  saw  a  lot  of  rough  fellows 
swaggering  along  behind  him.  Then  he  was  alarmed, 
terribly  alarmed,  for  his  diamond ;  he  tore  a  strip  of  his 
handkerchief,  and  tied  the  stone  cunningly  under  his 
armpit  as  he  hobbled  on. 

The  men  came  up  with  him. 

"  Hallo,  mate  !     Come  from  the  diggings  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  luck  ?  " 

"  Very  good." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  What !  found  a  fifty -carat  ?  Show  it 
us." 

"  We  found  five  big  stones,  my  mate  and  me.  He  is 
gone  to  Cape  Town  to  sell  them.  I  had  no  luck  when 
24 


370  A  SIMPLETON. 

he  had  left  me,  so  I  have  cut  it ;  going  to  turn  farmer. 
Can  you  tell  me  how  far  it  is  to  Dale's  Kloof  ?  " 

No,  they  could  not  tell  him  that.  They  swung  on; 
and,  to  Staines,  their  backs  were  a  cordial,  as  we  say  in 
Scotland. 

However,  his  travels  were  near  an  end.  Next  morn- 
ing he  saw  Dale's  Kloof  in  the  distance ;  and  as  soon  as 
the  heat  moderated,  he  pushed  on,  with  one  shoe  and 
tattered  trousers;  and  half  an  hour  before  sunset  he 
hobbled  up  to  the  place. 

It  was  all  bustle.  Travellers  at  the  door ;  their  wagons 
and  carts  under  a  long  shed. 

Ucatella  was  the  first  to  see  him  coming,  and  came 
and  fawned  on  him  with  delight.  Her  eyes  glistened, 
her  teeth  gleamed.  She  patted  both  his  cheeks,  and 
then  his  shoulders,  and  even  his  knees,  and  then  flew 
in-doors  crying,  "  My  doctor  child  is  come  home  !  "  This 
amused  three  travellers,  and  brought  out  Dick,  with  a 
hearty  welcome. 

"  But  Lordsake,  sir,  why  have  you  come  afoot ;  and  a 
rough  road  too  ?  Look  at  your  shoes.  Hallo !  What 
is  come  of  the  horse  ?  " 

"  I  exchanged  him  for  a  diamond." 

"  The  deuce  you  did  !     And  the  rifle  ?  " 

"  Exchanged  that  for  the  same  diamond." 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  big  'un." 

"  It  is." 

Dick  made  a  wry  face.  "  Well,  sir,  you  know  best. 
You  are  welcome,  on  horse  or  afoot.  You  are  just  in 
time  ;  Phoebe  and  me  are  just  sitting  down  to  dinner." 

He  took  him  into  a  little  room  they  had  built  for  their 
own  privacy,  for  they  liked  to  be  quiet  now  and  then, 
being  country  bred ;  and  Phoebe  was  putting  their  dinner 
on  the  table,  when  Staines  limped  in. 

She  gave  a  joyful  cry,  and  turned  red  all  over.     "Oh, 


A  SIMPLETON.  371 

doctor  ! "  Then  his  travel-torn  appearance  struck  her. 
"  But,  dear  heart !  what  a  figure  !  Where's  Reginald  ? 
Oh,  he's  not  far  off,  I  know." 

And  she  flung  open  the  window,  and  almost  flew 
through  it  in  a  moment,  to  look  for  her  husband. 

"  Reginald  ?  "  said  Staines.  Then  turning  to  Dick 
Dale,  "  Why,  he  is  here  —  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  No,  sir :  not  without  he  is  just  come  with  you." 

"  With  me  ? —  no.  You  know  we  parted  at  the  dig- 
gings. Come,  Mr.  Dale,  he  may  not  be  here  now ;  but 
he  has  been  here.     He  must  have  been  here." 

Phoebe,  who  had  not  lost  a  word,  turned  round,  with 
all  her  high  color  gone,  and  her  cheeks  getting  paler  and 
paler.     "  Oh,  Dick  !  what  is  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Dick.  "  Whatever  made 
you  think  he  was  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  tell  you  he  left  me  to  come  here." 

"  Left  you,  sir ! "  faltered  Phoebe.  "  Why,  when  ?  — 
where  ?  " 

''  At  the  diggings  —  ever  so  long  ago." 

"  Blank  him  !  that  is  just  like  him ;  the  uneasy  fool !  " 
roared  Dick. 

"No,  Mr.  Dale,  you  should  not  say  that;  he  left  me, 
with  my  consent,  to  come  to  Mrs.  Falcon  here,  and  con- 
sult her  about  disposing  of  our  diamonds." 

"  Diamonds  !  —  diamonds  !  "  cried  Phoebe.  "  Oh,  they 
make  me  tremble.  How  could  you  let  him  go  alone ! 
You  didn't  let  him  go  on  foot,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Falcon  ;  he  had  his  horse,  and  his  rifle, 
and  money  to  spend  on  the  road." 

"  How  long  ago  did  he  leave  you,  sir  ?  " 

"I  —  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was  five  weeks  ago." 

"  Five  weeks !  and  not  come  yet.  Ah !  the  wild 
beasts  !  —  the  diggers  !  —  the  murderers  !     He  is  dead  ! " 

"  God  forbid  ! "  faltered  Staines ;  but  his  own  blood 
began  to  run  cold. 


372  A  SIMPLETON. 

"He  is  dead.  He  has  died  between  this  and  the 
dreadful  diamonds.  I  shall  never  see  my  darling  again : 
he  is  dead.     He  is  dead." 

She  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  the  house, 
throwing  her  arms  above  her  head  in  despair,  and 
uttering  those  words  of  agony  again  and  again  in  every 
variety  of  anguish. 

At  such  horrible  moments  women  always  swoon  —  if 
we  are  to  believe  the  dramatists.  I  doubt  if  there  is  one 
grain  of  truth  in  this.  Women  seldom  swoon  at  all, 
unless  their  bodies  are  unhealthy,  or  weakened  by  the 
reaction  that  follows  so  terrible  a  shock  as  this.  At  all 
events,  Phoebe,  at  first,  was  strong  and  wild  as  a  lion, 
and  went  to  and  fro  outside  the  house,  unconscious  of 
her  body's  motion,  frenzied  with  agony,  and  but  one 
word  on  her  lips,  "  He  is  dead  !  —  he  is  dead !  " 

Dick  followed  her,  crying  like  a  child,  but  master  of 
himself;  he  got  his  people  about  her,  and  half  carried 
her  in  again ;  then  shut  the  door  in  all  their  faces. 

He  got  the  poor  creature  to  sit  down,  and  she  began 
to  rock  and  moan,  with  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
her  brown  hair  loose  about  her. 

"  Why  should  he  be  dead  ?  "  said  Dick.  "  Don't  give 
a  man  up  like  that,  Phoebe.  Doctor,  tell  us  more  about 
it.  Oh,  man,  how  could  you  let  him  out  of  your  sight  ? 
You  knew  how  fond  the  poor  creature  was  of  him." 

"  But  that  was  it,  Mr.  Dale,"  said  Staines.  "  I  knew 
his  wife  must  pine  for  him ;  and  we  had  found  six  large 
diamonds,  and  a  handful  of  small  ones  ;  but  the  market 
was  glutted ;  and  to  get  a  better  price,  he  wanted  to  go 
straight  to  Cape  Town.  But  I  said,  '  No ;  go  and  show 
them  to  your  wife,  and  see  whether  she  will  go  to  Cape 
Town.'" 

Phoebe  began  to  listen,  as  was  evident  by  her  moaning 
more  softly. 


A  SIMPLETON.  373 

"  Might  he  not  have  gone  straight  to  Cape  Town  ?  " 
Staines  hazarded  this  timidly. 

"  Why  should  he  do  that,  sir  ?  Dale's  Kloof  is  on  the 
road." 

"  Only  on  one  road.  Mr.  Dale,  he  was  well  armed, 
with  rifle  and  revolver;  and  I  cautioned  him  not  to 
show  a  diamond  on  the  road.  Who  would  molest  him  ? 
Diamonds  don't  show,  like  gold.  Who  was  to  know  he 
had  three  thousand  pounds  hidden  under  his  armpits, 
and  in  tAvo  barrels  of  his  revolver  ?  " 

"  Three  thousand  pounds  ! "  cried  Dale.  "  You  trusted 
him  with  three  thousand  pounds  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  They  were  worth  about  three  thousand 
pounds  in  Cape  Town,  and  half  as  much  again  in  "  — 

Phcfibe  started  up  in  a  moment.  "  Thank  God  !  "  she 
cried.     "  There's  hope  for  me.     Oh,  Dick,  he  is  not  dead : 

HE  HAS  ONLY  DESERTED  ME." 

And  with  these  strange  and  pitiable  words,  she  fell  to 
sobbing  as  if  her  great  heart  would  burst  at  last. 


374  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

There  came  a  reaction,  and  Phoebe  was  prostrated 
with  grief  and  alarm.  Her  brother  never  doubted  now 
that  Reginakl  had  run  to  Cape  Town  for  a  lark.  But 
Phoebe,  though  she  thought  so  too,  could  not  be  sure; 
and  so  the  double  agony  of  bereavement  and  desertion 
tortured  her  by  turns,  and  almost  together.  For  the  first 
time  these  many  years,  she  was  so  crushed  she  could 
not  go  about  her  business,  but  lay  on  a  little  sofa  in  her 
own  room,  and  had  the  blinds  down,  for  her  head  ached 
so  she  could  not  bear  the  light. 

She  conceived  a  bitter  resentment  against  Staines ; 
and  told  Dick  never  to  let  him  into  her  sight,  if  he  did 
not  want  to  be  her  death. 

In  vain  Dick  made  excuses  for  him :  she  would  hear 
none.  For  once  she  was  as  unreasonable  as  any  other 
living  woman :  she  could  see  nothing  but  that  she  had 
been  happy,  after  years  of  misery,  and  should  be  happy 
now  if  this  man  had  never  entered  her  house.  "Ah, 
Collie ! "  she  cried,  "  you  were  wiser  than  I  was.  You 
as  good  as  told  me  he  would  make  me  smart  for  lodging 
and  curing  him.     And  I  was  so  happy !  " 

Dale  communicated  this  as  delicately  as  he  could  to 
Staines.  Christopher  was  deeply  grieved  and  wounded. 
He  thought  it  unjust,  but  he  knew  it  was  natural :  he 
said,  humbly,  "  I  feel  guilty  myself,  Mr.  Dale ;  and  yet, 
unless  I  had  possessed  omniscience,  what  could  I  do  ?  I 
thought  of  her  in  all  —  poor  thing  !  poor  thing !  " 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes,  and  Dick  Dale  went 
away  scratching  his  head  and  thinking  it  over.     The 


A  SIMPLETON.  375 

more  lie  thought,  the  less  he  was  inclined  to  condemn 
him. 

Staines  himself  was  much  troubled  in  mind,  and  lived 
on  thorns.  He  wanted  to  be  off  to  England;  grudged 
every  day,  every  hour,  he  spent  in  Africa.  But  Mrs. 
Falcon  was  his  benefactress;  he  had  been,  for  months 
and  months,  garnering  up  a  heap  of  gratitude  towards 
her.  He  had  not  the  heart  to  leave  her  bad  friends,  and 
in  misery.  He  kept  hoping  Falcon  would  return,  or 
write. 

Two  days  after  his  return,  he  was  seated,  disconsolate, 
gluing  garnets  and  carbuncles  on  to  a  broad  tapering  bit 
of  lambskin,  when  Ucatella  came  to  him  and  said,  "  My 
doctor  child  sick  ?  " 

''  No,  not  sick :  but  miserable."  And  he  explained  to 
her,  as  well  as  he  could,  what  had  passed.  "  But,"  said 
he,  "  I  would  not  mind  the  loss  of  the  diamonds  now,  if 
I  was  only  sure  he  was  alive.  I  think  most  of  poor, 
poor  Mrs.  Falcon." 

While  Ucatella  pondered  this,  but  with  one  eye  of 
demure  curiosity  on  the  coronet  he  was  making,  he  told 
her  it  was  for  her — he  had  not  forgot  her  at  the  mines. 

"  These  stones,"  said  he,  "  are  not  valued  there ;  but 
see  how  glorious  they  are  1 " 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  finished  the  coronet,  and  gave 
it  her.  She  uttered  a  chuckle  of  delight,  and  with 
instinctive  art,  bound  it,  in  a  turn  of  her  hand,  about 
her  brow ;  and  then  Staines  himself  was  struck  dumb 
with  amazement.  The  carbuncles  gathered  from  those 
mines  look  like  rubies,  so  full  of  fire  are  they,  and  of 
enormous  size.  The  chaplet  had  twelve  great  carbuncles 
in  the  centre,  and  went  off  by  gradations  into  smaller 
garnets  by  the  thousand.  They  flashed  their  blood-red 
flames  in  the  African  sun,  and  the  head  of  Ucatella, 
grand  before,  became  the  head  of  the  Sphinx,  encircled 


376  A  SIMPLETON. 

with  a  coronet  of  fire.  She  bestowed  a  look  of  rapturous 
gratitude  on  Staines,  and  then  glided  away,  like  the  stately 
Juno,  to  admire  herself  in  the  nearest  glass  like  any  other 
coquette,  black,  brown,  yellow,  copper,  or  white. 

That  very  day,  towards  sunset,  she  burst  upon  Staines 
quite  siiddenly,  with  her  coronet  gleaming  on  her  magni- 
ficent head,  and  her  eyes  like  coals  of  fire,  and  under 
her  magnificent  arm,  hard  as  a  rock,  a  boy  kicking  aud 
struggling  in  vain.  She  was  furiously  excited,  and,  for 
the  first  time,  showed  signs  of  the  savage  in  the  whites 
of  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to  turn  the  glorious  pupils 
into  semicircles.  She  clutched  Staines  by  the  shoulder 
with  her  left  hand,  and  swept  along  with  the  pair,  like 
dark  Fate,  or  as  potent  justice  sweeps  away  a  pair  of 
culprits,  and  carried  them  to  the  little  window,  and  cried 
"Open  —  open !" 

Dick  Dale  was  at  dinner ;  Phoebe  lying  down.  Dick 
got  up,  rather  crossly,  and  threw  open  the  window. 
"  What  is  up  now  ?  "  said  he  crossly  :  he  was  like  two 
or  three  more  Englishmen  —  hated  to  be  bothered  at 
dinner-time. 

"Dar,"  screamed  Ucatella,  setting  down  Tim,  but 
holding  him  tight  by  the  shoulder ;  "  now  you  tell  what 
you  see  that  night,  you  lilly  Kafir  trash ;  if  you  not  tell, 
I  kill  you  DEAD ;  "  and  she  showed  the  whites  of  her 
eyes,  like  a  wild  beast. 

Tim,  thoroughly  alarmed,  quivered  out  that  he  had 
seen  lilly  master  ride  up  to  the  gate  one  bright  night, 
and  look  in,  and  Tim  thought  he  was  going  in ;  but  he 
changed  his  mind,  and  galloped  away  that  way ;  and  the 
monkey  pointed  south. 

"  And  why  couldn't  you  tell  us  this  before  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Dick. 

"Me  mind  de  sheep,"  said  Tim  apologetically.  "Me 
not  mind  de  lilly  master:  jackals  not  eat  him." 


A   SIMPLETON.  377 

"You  no  more  sense  dan  a  sheep  yourself,"  said 
Ucatella  loftily. 

"  No,  no :  God  bless  you  both,"  cried  poor  Phoebe : 
"  now  I  know  the  worst : "  and  a  great  burst  of  tears 
relieved  her  suffering  heart. 

Dick  went  out  softly.  When  he  got  outside  the  door, 
he  drew  them  all  apart,  and  said,  "  Yuke,  you  are  a  good- 
hearted  girl.  I'll  never  forget  this  while  I  live  ;  and, 
Tim,  there's  a  shilling  for  thee ;  but  don't  you  go  and 
spend  it  in  Cape  smoke;  that  is  poison  to  whites,  and 
destruction  to  blacks." 

"  No,  master,"  said  Tim.  "  I  shall  buy  much  bread, 
and  make  my  tomacli  tiff ; "  then,  with  a  glance  of 
reproach  aX,  the  domestic  caterer,  Ucatella,  "I  almost 
never  have  my  tomach  tiff." 

Dick  left  his  sister  alone  an  hour  or  two,  to  have  her 
cry  out. 

When  he  went  back  to  her  there  was  a  change :  the 
brave  woman  no  longer  lay  prostrate.  She  went  about 
her  business ;  only  she  was  always  either  crying  or 
drowning  her  tears. 

He  brought  Dr.  Staines  in.  Phoebe  instantly  turned 
her  back  on  him  with  a  shudder  there  was  no  mistaking. 

"I  had  better  go,"  said  Staines.  "Mrs.  Falcon  will 
never  forgive  me." 

"She  will  have  to  quarrel  with  me  else,"  said  Dick 
steadily.  "  Sit  you  down,  doctor.  Honest  folk  like  you 
and  me  and  Phoebe  wasn't  made  to  quarrel  for  want 
of  looking  a  thing  all  round.  My  sister  she  hasn't  looked 
it  all  round,  and  I  have.  Come,  Pheeb,  'tis  no  use  your 
blinding  yourself.  How  was  the  poor  doctor  to  know 
your  husband  is  a  blackguard  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  a  blackguard.  How  dare  you  say  that  to 
my  face  ?  " 

"He  is  a  blackguard^  and  always  was.     And  now  ht 


378  A  SIMPLETON. 

is  a  tliief  to  boot.  He  has  stolen  those  diamonds ;  you 
know  that  very  welL" 

"  Gently,  Mr.  Dale  ;  you  forget :  they  are  as  much  his 
as  mine." 

"  Well,  and  if  half  a  sheep  is  mine,  and  I  take  the 
whole  and  sell  him,  and  keep  the  money,  what  is  that 
but  stealing  ?  Why,  I  wonder  at  you,  Pheeb.  You  was 
always  honest  yourself,  and  yet  you  see  the  doctor  robbed 
by  your  man,  and  that  does  not  trouble  you.  What  has 
he  done  to  deserve  it  ?  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to  us. 
He  has  put  us  on  the  road.  We  did  little  more  than 
keep  the  pot  boiling  before  he  came  —  well,  yes,  we 
stored  grain ;  but  whose  advice  has  turned  that  grain  to 
gold,  I  might  say  ?  Well,  what's  his  offence  ?  He 
trusted  the  diamonds  to  your  man,  and  sent  him  to  you. 
Is  he  the  first  honest  man  that  has  trusted  a  rogue  ? 
How  was  he  to  know  ?  Likely  he  judged  the  husband 
by  the  wife.  Answer  me  one  thing,  Pheeb.  If  he  makes 
away  with  fifteen  hundred  pounds  that  is  his,  or  partly 
yours  —  for  he  has  eaten  your  bread  ever  since  I  knew 
him — and  fifteen  hundred  more  that  is  the  doctor's, 
where  shall  we  find  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  all  in  a 
moment,  to  pay  the  doctor  back  his  own  ?  " 

"  My  honest  friend,"  said  Staines,  "  you  are  torment- 
ing yourself  with  shadows.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Falcon 
will  wrong  me  of  a  shilling;  and,  if  he  does,  I  shall 
quietly  repay  myself  out  of  the  big  diamond.  Yes,  my 
dear  friends,  I  did  not  throw  away  your  horse,  nor  your 
rifle,  nor  your  money:  I  gave  them  all,  and  the  lion's 
skin  —  I  gave  them  all  —  for  this." 

And  he  laid  the  big  diamond  on  the  table. 

It  was  as  big  as  a  walnut,  and  of  the  purest  water. 

Dick  Dale  glanced  at  it  stupidly.  Phoebe  turned  her 
back  on  it,  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  then  came  slowly 
round  by  degrees ;  and  her  eyes  were  fascinated  by  the 
royal  gem. 


A  SEVEPLETON.  379 

"  Yes,"  said  Staines  sadly,  "I  had  to  strip  myself  of 
all  to  buy  it,  and,  when  I  had  got  it,  how  proud  I  was, 
and  how  happy  I  thought  we  should  all  be  over  it,  for  it 
is  half  yours,  half  mine.  Yes,  Mr.  Dale,  there  lies  six 
thousand  pounds  that  belong  to  Mrs.  Falcon." 

"  Six  thousand  pounds  ! "  cried  Dick. 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  And  so,  if  your  suspicions  are  cor- 
rect, and  poor  Falcon  should  yield  to  a  sudden  tempta- 
tion, and  spend  all  that  money,  I  shall  just  coolly  deduct 
it  from  your  share  of  this  wonderful  stone :  so  make 
your  mind  easy.  But  no  ;  if  Falcon  is  really  so  wicked 
as  to  desert  his  happy  home,  and  so  mad  as  to  spend 
thousands  in  a  month  or  two,  let  us  go  and  save  him." 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I  am  going  in 
the  mail-cart  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  you  won't  go  alone,"  said  Dick. 

"  Mrs.  Falcon,"  said  Staines  imploringly,  "  let  me  go 
with  you." 

''  Thank  you,  sir.     My  brother  can  take  care  of  me." 

"  Me  !     You  had  better  not  take  me.     If  I  catch  hold 

of  him,  by I'll  break  his  neck,  or  his  back,  or  his 

leg,  or  something ;  he'll  never  run  away  from  you  again, 
if  I  lay  hands  on  him,"  replied  Dick. 

"  I'll  go  alone.     You  are  both  against  me." 

"No,  Mrs.  Falcon;  I  am  not,"  said  Staines.  "My 
heart  bleeds  for  you." 

"  Don't  you  demean  yourself,  praying  her,"  said  Dick. 
"  It's  a  public  conveyance  :  you  have  no  need  to  ask  her 
leave." 

"  That  is  true  :  I  can't  hinder  folk  from  going  to  Cape 
Town  the  same  day,"  said  Phoebe  sullenly. 

"If  I  might  presume  to  advise,  I  would  take  little 
Tommy." 

"  What !  all  that  road  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  lose  my 
child,  as  well  as  my  man  ?  " 


380  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  0  Mrs.  Falcon !  " 

"  Don't  speak  to  her,  doctor,  to  get  your  nose  snapped 
off.  Give  her  time.  She'll  come  to  her  senses  before 
she  dies." 

Next  day  Mrs.  Falcon  and  Staines  started  for  Cape 
Town.  Staines  paid  her  every  attention,  when  oppor- 
tunity offered.  But  she  was  sullen  and  gloomy,  and 
held  no  converse  with  him. 

He  landed  her  at  an  inn,  and  then  told  her  he  would 
go  at  once  to  the  jeweller's.  He  asked  her  piteously 
would  she  lend  him  a  pound  or  two  to  prosecute  his 
researches.  She  took  out  her  purse,  without  a  word,  and 
lent  him  two  pounds. 

He  began  to  scour  the  town :  the  jewellers  he  visited 
could  tell  him  nothing.  At  last  he  came  to  a  shop,  and 
there  he  found  Mrs.  Falcon  making  her  inquiries  inde- 
pendently. She  said  coldly,  "  You  had  better  come  with 
me,  and  get  your  money  and  things." 

She  took  him  to  the  bank  —  it  happened  to  be  the  one 
she  did  business  with  —  and  said,  "This  is  Dr.  Christie, 
come  for  his  money  and  jewels." 

There  was  some  demur  at  this ;  but  the  cashier  recog- 
nized him,  and  Phoebe  making  herself  responsible,  the 
money  and  jewels  were  handed  over. 

Staines  whispered  Phoebe,  "Are  you  sure  the  jewels 
are  mine  ?  " 

"  They  were  found  on  you,  sir." 

Staines  took  them,  looking  confused.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  When  they  got  into  the  street 
again,  he  told  her  it  was  very  kind  of  her  to  think  of  his 
interest  at  all. 

No  answer :  she  was  not  going  to  make  friends  with 
him  over  such  a  trifle  as  that. 

By  degrees,  however,  Christopher's  zeal  on  her  behalf 
broke  the  ice ;  and  besides,  as  the  search  proved  unavail- 


A  SIMPLETON.  381 

ing,  she  needed  sympathy  ;  and  he  gave  it  her,  and  did 
not  abuse  her  husband  as  Dick  Dale  did. 

One  day,  in  the  street,  after  a  long  thought,  she  said 
to  him,  "  Didn't  you  say,  sir,  you  gave  him  a  letter  for 
me?" 

"  I  gave  him  two  letters  ;  one  of  them  was  to  you." 

"  Could  you  remember  what  you  said  in  it  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  I  begged  you,  if  you  should  go  to  Eng- 
land, to  break  the  truth  to  my  wife.  She  is  very  excit- 
able ;  and  sudden  joy  has  killed  ere  now.  I  gave  you 
particular  instructions." 

"  And  you  were  very  wise.  But  whatever  could  make 
you  think  I  would  go  to  England  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  you  only  wanted  an  excuse." 

"  Oh  ! ! " 

"  When  he  told  me  that,  I  caught  at  it,  of  course.  It 
was  all  the  world  to  me  to  get  my  Kosa  told  by  such  a 
kind,  good,  sensible  friend  as  you;  and,  Mrs.  Falcon,  I 
had  no  scruple  about  troubling  you,  because  I  knew  the 
stones  would  sell  for  at  least  a  thousand  pounds  more  in 
England  than  here,  and  that  would  pay  your  expenses." 

"  I  see,  sir ;  I  see.  'Twas  very  natural :  you  love  your 
wife." 

"  Better  than  my  life." 

"  And  he  told  you  I  only  wanted  an  excuse  to  go  to 
England  ?  " 

"  He  did,  indeed.     It  was  not  true  ?  " 

"It  was  anything  but  true.  I  had  suffered  so  in 
England ;  I  had  been  so  happy  here :  too  happy  to  last. 
Ah  !  well,  it  is  all  over.  Let  us  think  of  the  matter  in 
hand.  Sure  that  was  not  the  only  letter  you  gave  my 
husband  ?     Didn't  you  write  to  ?i,er  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did ;  but  that  was  enclosed  to  you,  and 
not  to  be  given  to  her  until  you  had  broken  the  joyful 
news  to  her.     Yes,  Mrs.  Falcon,  I  wrote  and  told  her 


382  A  SIMPLETON. 

everything :  my  loss  at  sea ;  how  I  was  saved,  after,  by 
your  kindness.  Our  journeys,  from  Cape  Town,  and 
then  to  the  diggings;  my  sudden  good  fortune,  my 
hopes,  my  joy  —  0  my  poor  Rosa !  and  now  I  suppose 
she  will  never  get  it.  It  is  too  cruel  of  him.  I  shall  go 
home  by  the  next  steamer.  I  canH  stay  here  any  longer, 
for  you  or  anybody.  Oh,  and  I  enclosed  my  ruby  ring 
that  she  gave  me,  for  I  thought  she  might  not  believe 
you  without  that." 

''  Let  me  think,"  said  Phoebe,  turning  ashy  pale.  "  For 
mercy's  sake,  let  me  think  ! 

"  He  has  read  both  those  letters,  sir. 

"  She  will  never  see  hers  :  any  more  than  I  shall  see 
mine." 

She  paused  again,  thinking  harder  and  harder. 

"  We  must  take  two  places  in  the  next  mail  steamer. 
I  must  look  after  my  husband,  akd  you  aftek  your 

WIFE." 


A  SIMPLETON.  383 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Mrs.  Falcon's  bitter  feeling  against  Dr.  Staines  did 
not  subside ;  it  merely  went  out  of  sight  a  little.  They 
were  thrown  together  by  potent  circumstances,  and  in  a 
manner  connected  by  mutual  obligations ;  so  an  open 
rupture  seemed  too  unnatural.  Still  Phoebe  was  a 
woman,  and,  blinded  by  her  love  for  her  husband,  could 
not  forgive  the  innocent  cause  of  their  present  un- 
happy separation ;  though  the  fault  lay  entirely  with 
Falcon. 

Staines  took  her  on  board  the  steamer,  and  paid  her 
every  attention.  She  was  also  civil  to  him ;  but  it  was 
a  cold  and  constrained  civility. 

About  a  hundred  miles  from  land  the  steamer  stopped, 
and  the  passengers  soon  learned  there  was  something 
wrong  with  her  machinery.  In  fact,  after  due  consulta- 
tion, the  captain  decided  to  put  back. 

This  irritated  and  distressed  Mrs.  Falcon  so  that  the 
captain,  desirous  to  oblige  her,  hailed  a  fast  schooner, 
that  tacked  across  her  bows,  and  gave  Mrs.  Falcon  the 
option  of  going  back  with  him,  or  going  on  in  the 
schooner,  with  whose  skipper  he  was  acquainted. 

Staines  advised  her  on  no  account  to  trust  to  sails, 
when  she  could  have  steam  with  only  a  delay  of  four  or 
five  days  ;  but  she  said,  "  Anything  sooner  than  go  back. 
I  can't,  I  can't  on  such  an  errand." 

Accordingly  she  was  put  on  board  the  schooner,  and 
Staines,  after  some  hesitation,  felt  bound  to  accompany 
her. 

It  proved  a  sad  error.     Contrary  winds  assailed  them 


384  A  SIMPLETON. 

the  very  next  day,  and  with  such  severity  that  they  had 
repeatedly  to  lie  to. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  with  a  ship  reeling  under 
them  like  a  restive  horse,  and  the  waves  running  moun. 
tains  high,  poor  Phoebe's  terrors  overmastered  both  her 
hostility  and  her  reserve.  "  Doctor,"  said  she,  "  I  believe 
'tis  God's  will  we  shall  never  see  England.  I  must  try 
and  die  more  like  a  Christian  than  I  have  lived,  forgiving 
all  who  have  wronged  me,  and  you,  that  have  been  my 
good  friend  and  my  worst  enemy,  but  you  did  not  mean 
it.  Sir,  what  has  turned  me  against  you  so  —  your  wife 
was  my  husband's  sweetheart  before  he  married  me." 

''  My  wife  your  husband's  —  you  are  dreaming." 

"Nay,  sir,  once  she  came  to  my  shop,  and  I  sav/ 
directly  I  was  nothing  to  him,  and  he  owned  it  all  to  me  ; 
he  had  courted  her,  and  she  jilted  him;  so  he  said.  Why 
should  he  tell  me  a  lie  about  that  ?  I'd  lay  my  life  'tis 
true.  And  now  you  have  sent  him  to  her  your  own  self ; 
and,  at  sight  of  her,  I  shall  be  nothing  again.  Well, 
when  this  ship  goes  down,  they  can  marry,  and  I  hope 
he  will  be  happy,  happier  than  I  can  make  him,  that 
tried  my  best,  God  knows." 

This  conversation  surprised  Staines  not  a  little.  How- 
ever, he  said,  with  great  warmth,  it  was  false.  His  wife 
had  danced  and  flirted  with  some  young  gentleman  at 
one  time,  when  there  was  a  brief  misunderstanding 
between  him  and  her,  but  sweetheart  she  had  never  had, 
except  him.  He  courted  her  fresh  from  school.  "  Now, 
my  good  soul,"  said  he,  "make  your  mind  easy;  the 
ship  is  a  good  one,  and  well  handled,  and  in  no  danger 
whatever,  and  my  wife  is  in  no  danger  from  your 
husband.  Since  you  and  your  brother  tell  me  that  he 
is  a  villain,  I  am  bound  to  believe  you.  But  my  wife 
is  an  angel.  In  our  miserable  hour  of  parting,  she 
vowed  not  to  marry  again,  should  I  be  taken  from  lier. 


A   SIMPLETON.  385 

Many  again  !  wliat  am  I  talking  of  ?  Why,  if  he  visits 
her  at  all,  it  will  be  to  let  her  know  I  am  alive,  and  give 
her  my  letter.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  she  will  listen 
to  vows  of  love  from  him,  when  her  whole  heart  is  in 
rapture  for  me  ?     Such  nonsense  ! " 

This  burst  of  his  did  not  affront  her,  and  did  not 
comfort  her. 

At  last  the  wind  abated ;  and  after  a  wearisome  calm, 
a  light  breeze  came,  and  the  schooner  crept  home- 
ward. 

Phoebe  restrained  herself  for  several  days ;  but  at  last 
she  came  back  to  the  subject;  this  time  it  was  in  an 
apologetic  tone  at  starting.  "I  know  you  think  me  a 
foolish  woman,"  she  said ;  "  but  my  poor  Reginald  could 
never  resist  a  pretty  face ;  and  she  is  so  lovely ;  and  you 
should  have  seen  how  he  turned  when  she  came  in  to  my 
place.  Oh,  sir,  there  has  been  more  between  them  than 
you  know  of ;  and  when  I  think  that  he  will  have  been 
in  England  so  many  months  before  we  get  there,  oh, 
doctor,  sometimes  I  feel  as  I  should  go  mad ;  my  head  it 
is  like  a  furnace,  and  see,  my  brow  is  all  wrinkled  again." 

Then  Staines  tried  to  comfort  her ;  assured  her  she 
was  tormenting  herself  idly ;  her  husband  would  perhaps 
have  spent  some  of  the  diamond  money  on  his  amuse- 
ment ;  but  what  if  he  had  ?  he  should  deduct  it  out  of 
the  big  diamond,  which  was  also  their  joint  property, 
and  the  loss  would  hardly  be  felt.  "  As  to  my  wife, 
madam,  I  have  but  one  anxiety ;  lest  he  should  go  blurt- 
ing it  out  that  I  am  alive,  and  almost  kill  her  with  joy." 

"  He  will  not  do  that,  sir.     He  is  no  fool." 

"I  am  glad  of  it;  for  there  is  nothing  else  to  fear." 

"Man,  I  tell  you  there  is  everything  to  fear.  You 
dcn't  know  him  as  I  do ;  nor  his  power  over  women.'' 

"  IVIrs.  Falcon,  are  you  bent  on  affronting  me  ?  " 

"No,  sir ;  Heaven  forbid ! " 


386  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Then  please  to  close  this  subject  forever.     In  three 

weeks  we  shall  be  in  England." 

"Ay;  but  he  has  been  there  six  months." 

He  bowed  stiffly  to  her,  went  to  his  cabin,  and  avoided 

the  poor  foolish  woman  as  much  as  he  could  without 

seeming  too  unkind. 


A  SIMPLETON.  387 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Mrs.  Staines  made  one  or  two  movements  —  to  stop 
Lord  Tadcaster  —  with  her  hand,  that  expressive  feature 
with  which,  at  such  times,  a  sensitive  woman  can  do  all 
but  speak. 

When  at  last  he  paused  for  her  reply,  she  said,  ''  Me 
marry  again !     Oh !  for  shame  ! " 

"Mrs.  Staines  —  Rosa  —  you  will  marry  again,  some 
day." 

"  Never.  Me  take  another  husband,  after  such  a  man 
as  I  have  lost !  I  should  be  a  monster.  Oh,  Lord  Tad- 
caster,  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me ;  so  sympathizing. 
You  made  me  believe  you  loved  my  Christopher,  too; 
and  now  you  have  spoiled  all.     It  is  too  cruel." 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Staines,  do  you  think  me  capable  of  feign- 
ing —  don't  you  see  my  love  for  you  has  taken  you  by 
surprise  ?  But  how  could  I  visit  you  —  look  on  you  — 
hear  you  —  mingle  my  regrets  with  yours ;  yours  were 
the  deepest,  of  course  ;  but  mine  were  honest." 

*'  I  believe  it."  And  she  gave  him  her  hand.  He  held 
it,  and  kissed  it,  and  cried  over  it,  as  the  young  will,  and 
implored  her,  on  his  knees,  not  to  condemn  herself  to 
life-long  widowhood,  and  him  to  despair. 

Then  she  cried,  too;  but  she  was  firm;  and  by 
degrees  she  made  him  see  that  her  heart  was  inac- 
cessible. 

Then  at  last  he  submitted  with  tearful  eyes,  but  a 
valiant  heart. 

She  offered  friendship  timidly. 

But  he  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  fall  into  that  trap. 


388  A   SIMPLETON. 

"No,"  he  said:  "1  could  not,  I  could  not.  Love  or 
nothing." 

"You  are  right,"  said  she,  pityingly.  "Forgive  me. 
In  my  selfishness  and  my  usual  folly,  I  did  not  see  this 
coming  on,  or  I  would  have  spared  you  this  mortification." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  gulped  the  little  earl.  "  I  shall 
always  be  proud  I  knew  you,  and  proud  I  loved  you,  and 
offered  you  my  hand." 

Then  the  magnanimous  little  fellow  blessed  her,  and 
left  her,  and  discontinued  his  visits. 

Mr.  Lusignan  found  her  crying,  and  got  the  truth  out 
of  her.  He  was  in  despair.  He  remonstrated  kindly, 
but  firmly.  Truth  compels  me  to  say  that  she  politely 
ignored  him.  He  observed  that  phenomenon,  and  said, 
"  Very  well  then,  I  shall  telegraph  for  Uncle  Philip." 

"  Do,"  said  the  rebel.     "  He  is  always  welcome." 

Philip,  telegraphed,  came  down  that  evening ;  likewise 
his  little  black  bag.  He  found  them  in  the  drawing- 
room  :  papa  with  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  Rosa  seated, 
sewing,  at  a  lamp.  She  made  little  Christie's  clothes 
herself,  —  fancy  that ! 

Having  ascertained  that  the  little  boy  was  well,  Philip, 
adroitly  hiding  that  he  had  come  down  torn  with  anxiety 
on  that  head,  inquired  with  a  show  of  contemptuous  in- 
difference, whose  cat  was  dead. 

"Nobody's,"  said  Lusignan  crossly.  Then  he  turned 
and  pointed  the  Gazette  at  his  offspring.  "  Do  you  see 
that  young  lady  stitching  there  so  demurely  ?  " 

Philip  carefully  wiped  and  then  put  on  his  spectacles. 

"I  see  her,"  said  he.  "She  does  look  a  little  too 
innocent.  None  of  them  are  really  so  innocent  as  all 
that.  Has  she  been  swearing  at  the  nurse,  and  boxing 
her  ears  ?  " 

"  Worse  than  that.  She  has  been  and  refused  the  Earl 
of  Tadcaster." 


A  smPLETON.  389 

"  Eefused  him  —  what !  has  that  little  monkey  had 
the  audacity  ?  " 

"  The  condescension,  you  mean.     Yes." 

"  And  she  has  refused  him  ?  " 

"  And  twenty  thousand  a  year," 

"  What  immorality  ! " 

"  Worse.     AVhat  absurdity  ! " 

"  How  is  it  to  be  accounted  for  ?  Is  it  the  old  story  ? 
'  I  could  never  love  him,'  No ;  that's  inadequate ;  for 
they  all  love  a  title  and  twenty  thousand  a  year." 

Rosa  sewed  on  all  this  time  in  demure  and  absolute 
silence, 

"  She  ignores  us,"  said  Philip.  "  It  is  intolerable. 
She  does  not  appreciate  our  politeness  in  talking  at  her. 
Let  us  arraign  her  before  our  sacred  tribunal,  and  have 
her  into  court,  Now,  mistress,  the  Senate  of  Venice  is 
assembled,  and  you  must  be  pleased  to  tell  us  why  yow. 
refused  a  title  and  twenty  thousand  a  year,  with  a  small 
but  symmetrical  earl  tacked  on," 

Rosa  laid  down  her  work,  and  said  quietly,  "  Uncle, 
almost  the  last  words  that  passed  between  me  and  my 
Christopher,  we  promised  each  other  solemnly  never  to 
marry  again  till  death  should  us  part.  You  know  how 
deep  my  sorrow  has  been  that  I  can  find  so  few  wishes 
of  my  lost  Christopher  to  obey.  Well,  to-day  I  have 
had  an  opportunity  at  last,  I  have  obeyed  my  own  lost 
one ;  it  has  cost  me  a  tear  or  two ;  but,  for  all  that,  it 
has  given  me  one  little  gleam  of  happiness.  Ah,  foolish 
woman,  that  obeys  too  late  !  " 

And  with  this  the  tears  began  to  run. 

All  this  seemed  a  little  too  high-flown  to  Mr,  Lusignan. 
"  There,"  said  he,  "  see  on  what  a  straw  her  mind  turns. 
So,  but  for  that,  you  would  have  done  the  right  thing, 
and  married  the  earl  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  I  should  —  at  the  time  —  to  stop  his 
crying," 


390  A   SIMPLETON. 

And  with  this  listless  remark  she  quietly  took  up  her 
sewing  again. 

The  sagacious  Philip  looked  at  her  gravely.  He  thought 
to  himself  how  piteous  it  was  to  see  so  young  and  lovely 
a  creature,  that  had  given  up  all  hope  of  happiness  for 
herself.  These  being  his  real  thoughts,  he  expressed 
himself  as  follows:  "We  had  better  drop  this  subject, 
sir.  This  young  lady  will  take  us  potent,  grave,  and 
reverend  seignors  out  of  our  depth,  if  we  don't  mind.'' 

But  the  moment  he  got  her  alone  he  kissed  her  pater- 
nally, and  said,  "  Rosa,  it  is  not  lost  on  me,  your  fidelity 
to  the  dead.  As  years  roll  on,  and  your  deep  wound  first 
closes,  then  skins,  then  heals  —  " 

"  Ah,  let  me  die  first  —  " 

"Time  and  nature  will  absolve  you  from  that  vow; 
but  bless  you  for  thinking  this  can  never  be.  Rosa, 
your  folly  of  this  day  has  made  you  my  heir ;  so  never 
let  money  tempt  you,  for  you  have  enough,  and  will 
have  more  than  enough  when  I  go." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  altered  his  will  next  day, 
and  made  Rosa  his  residuary  legatee.  When  he  had 
done  this,  foreseeing  no  fresh  occasion  for  his  services, 
he  prepared  for  a  long  visit  to  Italy.  He  was  packing 
up  his  things  to  go  there,  when  he  received  a  line  from 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  asking  him  to  call  on  her  pro- 
fessionally. As  the  lady's  servant  brought  it,  he  sent 
back  a  line  to  say  he  no  longer  practised  medicine,  but 
would  call  on  her  as  a  friend  in  an  hour's  time. 

He  found  her  reclining,  the  picture  of  lassitude.  "  How 
good  of  you  to  come,"  she  drawled. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he  brusquely. 

"  I  wish  to  cawnsult  you  about  myself.  I  think  if  any- 
body can  brighten  me  up,  it  is  you.  I  feel  such  a  languaw 
—  such  a  want  of  spirit;  and  I  get  palaa,  and  that  is  not 
desiwable." 


A   SIMPLETON.  391 

He  examined  her  tongue  and  the  white  of  her  eye,  and 
told  her,  in  his  blunt  way,  she  ate  and  drank  too  much. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  she  stilfly. 

"I  mean  too  often.  Now,  let's  see.  Cup  of  tea  in 
bed,  of  a  morning  ?  " 

"  Yaas." 

"  Dinner  at  two  ?  " 

"  We  call  it  luncheon." 

"  Are  you  a  ventriloquist  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  it  is  only  your  lips  call  it  luncheon.  Your  poor 
stomach,  could  it  speak,  would  call  it  dinner.  Afternoon 
tea  ?  " 

"Yaas." 

"At  seven-thirty  another  dinner.  Tea  after  that. 
Yonr  afflicted  stomach  gets  no  rest.     You  eat  pastry?" 

"  I  confess  it." 

"  And  sugar  in  a  dozen  forms  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"Well,  sugar  is  poison  to  your  temperament.  Now 
I'll  set  you  up,  if  you  can  obey.  Give  up  your  morning 
dram." 

"  What  dwam  ?  " 

"  Tea  in  bed,  before  eating.  Can't  you  see  that  is  a 
dram  ?  Animal  food  twice  a  day.  No  wine  but  a  little 
claret  and  water ;  no  pastry,  no  sweets,  and  play  battle- 
dore with  one  of  your  male  subjects." 

"  Battledaw  !  won't  a  lady  do  for  that  ?  " 

"No :  you  would  get  talking,  and  not  play  ad  sudorem.^' 

"  Ad  sudawem  !  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  In  earnest." 

"And  will  sudawem  and  the  west  put  me  in  better 
spiwits,  and  give  me  a  tinge  ?  " 

"  It  will  incarnadine  the  lily,  and  make  you  the  happi- 
est young  lady  in  England,  as  you  are  the  best." 


392  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  muoli  happier  than  I  am  good,  if 
we  could  manage  it  among  us." 

"  We  will  manage  it  amonrj  us ;  for  if  the  diet  allowed 
should  not  make  you  boisterously  gay,  I  have  a  remedy 
behind,  suited  to  your  temperament.  I  am  old-fashioned, 
and  believe  in  the  temperaments." 

"  And  what  is  that  wemedy  ?  " 

"  Try  diet,  and  hard  exercise,  first." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  let  me  know  that  wemedy." 

"  I  warn  you  it  is  what  we  call  in  medicine  an  heroic 
one." 

"Never  mind.     I  am  despewate." 

"  Well,  then,  the  heroic  remedy  —  to  be  used  only  as  a 
desperate  resort,  mind  —  you  must  marry  an  Irishman." 

This  took  the  lady's  breath  away. 

"  Mawwy  a  nice  man  ?  " 

"  A  nice  man ;  no.  That  means  a  fool.  Marry  scien- 
tifically—  a  precaution  eternally  neglected.  Marry  a 
Hibernian  gentleman,  a  being  as  mercurial  as  you  are 
lymphatic." 

"  Mercurial !  —  lymphatic  ! "  — 

"  Oh,  hard  words  break  no  bones,  ma'am." 

"No,  sir.  And  it  is  very  curious.  No,  I  won't  tell 
you.  Yes,  I  will.  Hem!  —  I  think  I  have  noticed 
one." 

"  One  what  ?  " 

"  One  Iwishman  —  dangling  after  me." 

"  Then  your  ladyship  has  only  to  tighten  the  cord  — 
and  he's  done  for." 

Having  administered  this  prescription,  our  laughing 
philosopher  went  off  to  Italy,  and  there  fell  in  with 
some  countrymen  to  his  mind,  so  he  accompanied  them 
to  Egypt  and  Palestine, 

His  absence,  and  Lord  Tadcaster's,  made  Eosa  Staines's 
life  extremely  monotonous.     Day  followed  day,  and  week 


A  SIMPLETON.  393 

followed  week,  each  so  unvarying,  that,  on  a  retrospect, 
three  months  seemed  like  one  day. 

And  I  think  at  last  youth  and  nature  began  to  rebel, 
and  secretly  to  crave  some  little  change  or  incident  to 
ruffle  the  stagnant  pool.  Yet  she  would  not  go  into 
society,  and  would  only  receive  two  or  three  dull  people 
at  the  villa ;  so  she  made  the  very  monotony  which  was 
beginning  to  tire  her,  and  nursed  a  sacred  grief  she  had 
no  need  to  nurse,  it  was  so  truly  genuine. 

She  was  in  this  forlorn  condition,  when,  one  morning, 
a  carriage  drove  to  the  door,  and  a  card  was  brought  up 
to  her  —  "Mr.  Eeginald  Falcon." 

Falcon's  history,  between  this  and  our  last  advices,  is 
soon  disposed  of. 

When,  after  a  little  struggle  with  his  better  angel,  he 
rode  past  his  wife's  gate,  he  intended,  at  first,  only  to  go 
to  Cape  Town,  sell  the  diamonds,  have  a  lark,  and  bring 
home  the  balance :  but,  as  he  rode  south,  his  views 
expanded.  He  could  have  ten  times  the  fun  in  London, 
and  cheaper ;  since  he  could  sell  the  diamonds  for  more 
money,  and  also  conceal  the  true  price.  This  was  the 
Bohemian's  whole  mind  in  the  business.  He  had  no 
designs  whatever  on  Mrs.  Staines,  nor  did  he  intend  to 
steal  the  diamonds,  but  to  embezzle  a  portion  of  the 
purchase-money,  and  enjoy  the  pleasures  and  vices  of 
the  capital  for  a  few  months ;  then  back  to  his  milch 
cow,  Phoebe,  and  lead  a  quiet  life  till  the  next  uncon- 
trollable fit  should  come  upon  him  along  with  the  means 
of  satisfying  it. 

On  the  way,  he  read  Staines's  letter  to  Mrs.  Falcon, 
very  carefully.  He  never  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter 
to  Mrs.  Staines.  That  was  to  be  given  her  when  he  had 
broken  the  good  news  to  her  ;  and  this  he  determined  to 
do  with  such  skill,  as  should  make  Dr.  Staines  very 
unwilling  to  look  suspiciously  or  ill-naturedly  into  money 
accounts. 


394  A   SIMPLETON. 

He  reached  London;  and  being  a  thorough  egotist, 
attended  first  to  his  own  interests  ;  he  never  went  near 
Mrs.  Staines  until  he  had  visited  every  diamond  mer- 
chant and  dealer  in  the  metropolis ;  he  showed  the  small 
stones  to  them  all ;  but  he  showed  no  more  than  one 
large  stone  to  each. 

At  last  he  got  an  offer  of  twelve  hundred  pounds  for 
the  small  stones,  and  the  same  for  the  large  yellow  stone, 
and  nine  hundred  pounds  for  the  second  largest  stone. 
He  took  this  nine  hundred  pounds,  and  instantly  wrote 
to  Phoebe,  telling  her  he  had  a  sudden  inspiration  to 
bring  the  diamonds  to  England,  which  he  could  not 
regret,  since  he  had  never  done  a  wiser  thing.  He  had 
sold  a  single  stone  for  eight  hundred  pounds,  and  had 
sent  the  doctor's  four  hundred  pounds  to  her  account  in 
Cape  Town ;  and  as  each  sale  was  effected,  the  half  would 
be  so  remitted.  She  would  see  by  that,  he  was  wiser 
than  in  former  days.  He  should  only  stay  so  long  as 
might  be  necessary  to  sell  them  all  equally  well.  His 
own  share  he  would  apply  to  paying  off  mortgages  on 
the  family  estate,  of  which  he  hoped  some  day  to  see 
her  the  mistress,  or  he  would  send  it  direct  to  her, 
whichever  she  might  prefer. 

Now  the  main  object  of  this  artful  letter  was  to  keep 
Phoebe  quiet,  and  not  have  her  coming  after  him,  of 
which  he  felt  she  was  very  capable. 

The  money  got  safe  to  Cape  Town,  but  the  letter  to 
Phoebe  miscarried.  How  this  happened  was  never  posi- 
tively known ;  but  the  servant  of  the  lodging-house  was 
afterwards  detected  cutting  stamps  off  a  letter ;  so  per- 
haps she  had  played  that  game  on  this  occasion. 

By  this  means,  matters  took  a  curious  turn.  Palcon, 
intending  to  lull  his  wife  into  a  false  security,  lulled 
himself  into  that  state  instead. 

When  he  had  taken  care  of  himself,  and  got  five  hun- 


A   SIMPLETON.  395 

dred  pounds  to  play  the  fool  with,  then  he  condescended 
to  remember  his  errand  of  mercy ;  and  he  came  down  to 
Graves  end,  to  see  Mrs.  Staines. 

On  the  road,  he  gave  his  mind  seriously  to  the  delicate 
and  dangerous  task.  It  did  not,  however,  disquiet  him 
as  it  would  you,  sir,  or  you,  madam.  He  had  a  great 
advantage  over  you.  He  was  a  liar  —  a  smooth,  ready, 
accomplished  liar  —  and  he  knew  it. 

This  was  the  outline  he  had  traced  in  his  mind :  he 
should  appear  very  subdued  and  sad;  should  wear  an 
air  of  condolence.  But,  after  a  while,  should  say,  '''  And 
yet  men  have  been  lost  like  that,  and  escaped.  A  man 
was  picked  up  on  a  raft  in  those  very  latitudes,  and 
brought  into  Cape  Town.  A  friend  of  mine  saw  him, 
months  after,  at  the  hospital.  His  memory  Avas  shaken 
—  could  not  tell  his  name ;  but  in  other  respects  he  was 
all  right  again." 

If  Mrs.  Staines  took  fire  at  this,  he  would  say  his 
friend  knew  all  the  particulars,  and  he  would  ask  him, 
and  so  leave  that  to  rankle  till  next  visit.  And  having 
planted  his  germ  of  hope,  he  would  grow  it,  and  water 
it,  by  visits  and  correspondence,  till  he  could  throw  off 
the  mask,  and  say  he  was  convinced  Staines  was  alive : 
and  from  that,  by  other  degrees,  till  he  could  say,  on  his 
wife's  authority,  that  the  man  picked  up  at  sea,  and 
cured  at  her  house,  was  the  very  physician  who  had  saved 
her  brother's  life  :  and  so  on  to  the  overwhelming  proof 
he  carried  in  the  ruby  ring  and  the  letter. 

I  am  afraid  the  cunning  and  dexterity,  the  subtlety 
and  tact  required,  interested  him  more  in  the  commission 
than  did  the  benevolence.  He  called,  sent  up  his  card, 
and  composed  his  countenance  for  his  part;  like  an  actor 
at  the  Wing. 

"  Not  at  home." 

He  stared  with  amazement. 


396  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  history  of  a  "Not  at  home"  is  not,  in  general, 
worth  recording :  but  this  is  an  exception. 

On  receiving  Falcon's  card,  Mrs.  Staines  gave  a  little 
start,  and  colored  faintly.  She  instantly  resolved  not  to 
see  him.  What !  the  man  she  had  flirted  with,  almost 
jilted,  and  refused  to  marry  —  he  dared  to  be  alive  when 
her  Christopher  was  dead,  and  had  come  there  to  show 
her  he  was  alive  ! 

She  said  "Not  at  home  "  with  a  tone  of  unusual  sharp- 
ness and  decision,  which  left  the  servant  in  no  doubt  he 
must  be  equally  decided  at  the  hall  door. 

Falcon  received  the  sudden  freezer  with  amazement. 
"  Nonsense,"  said  he.  "  Not  at  home  at  this  time  of  the 
morning  —  to  an  old  friend ! " 

"  Not  at  home,"  said  the  man  doggedly. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Falcon  with  a  bitter  sneer,  and 
returned  to  London. 

He  felt  sure  she  was  at  home ;  and  being  a  tremendous 
egotist,  he  said,  "Oh!  all  right.  If  she  would  rather 
not  know  her  husband  is  alive,  it  is  all  one  to  me ; " 
and  he  actually  took  no  more  notice  of  her  for  a  full 
week,  and  never  thought  of  her,  except  to  chuckle  over 
the  penalty  she  was  paying  for  daring  to  affront  his 
vanity. 

However,  Sunday  came;  he  saw  a  dull  day  before 
him,  and  so  he  relented,  and  thought  he  would  give  her 
another  trial. 

He  went  down  to  Gravesend  by  boat,  and  strolled 
towards  the  villa. 

When  he  was  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  villa,  a 
lady,  all  in  black,  came  out  with  a  nurse  and  child. 

Falcon  knew  her  figure  all  that  way  off,  and  it  gave 
him  a  curious  thrill  that  surprised  him.  He  followed 
her,  and  was  not  very  far  behind  her  when  she  reached 
the  church.     She  turned  at  the  porch,  kissed  the  child 


A   SIMPLETON.  397 

earnestly,  and  gave  the  nurse  some  directions ;  then 
entered  the  church. 

"  Come,"  said  Falcon,  "  I'll  have  a  look  at  her,  any 
way." 

He  went  into  the  church,  and  walked  up  a  side  aisle 
to  a  pillar,  from  which  he  thought  he  might  be  able  to 
see  the  whole  congregation ;  and,  sure  enough,  there  she 
sat,  a  few  yards  from  him.  She  was  lovelier  than  ever. 
Mind  had  grown  on  her  face  with  trouble.  An  angelic 
expression  illuminated  her  beauty ;  he  gazed  on  her, 
fascinated.  He  drank  and  drank  her  beauty  two  mortal 
hours,  and  when  the  church  broke  up,  and  she  went 
home,  he  was  half  afraid  to  follow  her,  for  he  felt  how 
hard  it  would  be  to  say  anything  to  her  but  that  the  old 
love  had  returned  on  him  with  double  force. 

However,  having  watched  her  home,  he  walked  slowly 
to  and  fro  composing  himself  for  the  interview. 

He  now  determined  to  make  the  process  of  informing 
her  a  very  long  one :  he  would  spin  it  out,  and  so  secure 
many  a  sweet  interview  with  her  :  and,  who  knows  ?  he 
might  fascinate  her  as  she  had  him,  and  ripen  gratitude 
into  love,  as  he  understood  that  word. 

He  called,  he  sent  in  his  card.  The  man  went  in,  and 
came  back  with  a  sonorous  "  Not  at  home." 

"  Not  at  home  ?  nonsense.  Why,  she  is  just  come  in 
from  church." 

"  Not  at  home,"  said  the  man,  evidently  strong  in  his 
instructions. 

Falcon  turned  white  with  rage  at  this  second  affront. 
"  All  the  worse  for  her,"  said  he,  and  turned  on  his 
heel. 

He  went  home,  raging  with  disappointment  and 
wounded  vanity,  and  —  since  such  love  as  his  is  seldom 
very  far  from  hate  —  he  swore  she  should  never  know 
from  him  that  her  husband  was  alive.     He  even  moral- 


398  A  SIMPLETON. 

ized,  "  This  comes  of  being  so  unselfish,"  said  he.  "  I'll 
give  that  game  up  forever." 

By  and  by,  a  mere  negative  revenge  was  not  enough 
for  him,  and  he  set  his  wits  to  work  to  make  her  smart. 

He  wrote  to  her  from  his  lodgings  :  — 

Dear  Madam,  —  What  a  pity  you  are  never  at  home  to  me. 
I  had  something  to  say  about  your  husband,  that  I  thought 
might  interest  you 

Yours  truly, 

R.  Falcon. 

Imagine  the  effect  of  this  abominable  note.  It  was 
like  a  rock  flung  into  a  placid  pool.  It  set  Rosa  trem- 
bling all  over.     What  could  he  mean  ? 

She  ran  with  it  to  her  father,  and  asked  him  what  Mr. 
Falcon  could  mean. 

''  I  have  no  idea,"  said  he.  "  You  had  better  ask  him, 
not  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  to  get  to  see  me.  You  know 
he  admired  me  once.     Ah,  how  suspicious  I  am  getting." 

Rosa  wrote  to  Falcon :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  Since  my  bereavement  I  see  scarcely  anybody. 
My  .«ervant  did  not  know  you  ;  so  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me. 
If  it  is  too  much  trouble  to  call  again,  would  you  kindly  explain 
your  note  to  me  ? 

Yours  respectfully, 

Rosa  Staines. 

Falcon  chuckled  bitterly  over  this.  "No,  my  lady," 
said  he.  "  I'll  serve  you  out.  You  shall  run  after  me  like 
a  little  dog.     I  have  got  the  bone  that  will  draw  you." 

He  wrote  back  coldly  to  say  that  the  matter  he  had 
wished  to  communicate  was  too  delicate  and  important 
to  put  on  paper ;  that  he  would  try  and  get  down  to 
Gravesend  again  some  day  or  other,  but  was  much  occu- 


A   SIMPLETON.  399 

pied,  and  had  already  put  himself  to  inconvenience.  He 
added,  in  a  postscript,  that  he  was  always  at  home  from 
four  to  five. 

Next  day  he  got  hold  of  the  servant,  and  gave  her 
minute  instructions,  and  a  guinea. 

Then  the  wretch  got  some  tools  and  bored  a  hole  in 
the  partition  wall  of  his  sitting-room.  The  paper  had 
large  flowers.  He  was  artist  enough  to  conceal  the  trick 
with  water-colors.  In  his  bed-room  the  hole  came  behind 
the  curtains. 

That  very  afternoon,  as  he  had  foreseen,  Mrs.  Staines 
called  on  him.  The  maid,  duly  instructed,  said  Mr. 
Falcon  was  out,  but  would  soon  return,  and  could  she 
wait  his  return?  The  maid  being  so  very  civil,  Mrs. 
Staines  said  she  would  wait  a  little  while,  and  was  im- 
mediately ushered  into  Falcon's  sitting-room.  There  she 
sat  down ;  but  was  evidently  ill  at  ease,  restless,  flushed. 
She  could  not  sit  quiet,  and  at  last  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  almost  wildly.  Her  beautiful  eyes  glit- 
tered, and  the  whole  woman  seemed  on  lire.  The  caitiff, 
who  was  watching  her,  saw  and  gloated  on  all  this,  and 
enjoyed  to  the  full  her  beauty  and  agitation,  and  his 
revenge  for  her  "Not  at  homes." 

But  after  a  long  time,  there  was  a  reaction :  she  sat 
down  and  uttered  some  plaintive  sounds  inarticulate,  or 
nearly ;  and  at  last  she  began  to  cry. 

Then  it  cost  Falcon  an  effort  not  to  come  in  and  com- 
fort her ;  but  he  controlled  himself  and  kept  quiet. 

She  rang  the  bell.  She  asked  for  writing  paper,  and 
she  wrote  her  unseen  tormentor  a  humble  note,  begging 
him,  for  old  acquaintance,  to  call  on  her,  and  tell  her 
what  his  mysterious  Avords  meant  that  had  filled  her 
with  agitation. 

This  done,  she  went  away,  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  FalcoD 
emerged,  and  pounced  upon  her  letter. 


400  A  SIMPLETON. 

He  kissed  it;  he  read  it  a  dozen  times:  he  sat  down 
where  she  had  sat,  and  his  base  passion  overpowered 
him.  Her  beauty,  her  agitation,  her  fear,  her  tears,  all 
combined  to  madden  him,  and  do  the  devil's  work  in  his 
false,  selfish  heart,  so  open  to  violent  passions,  so  dead 
to  conscience. 

For  once  in  his  life  he  was  violently  agitated,  and  torn 
by  conflicting  feelings  :  he  walked  aboiit  the  room  more 
wildly  than  his  victim  had ;  and  if  it  be  true  that,  in 
certain  great  temptations,  good  and  bad  angels  fight  for 
a  man,  here  you  might  have  seen  as  fierce  a  battle  of 
that  kind  as  ever  was. 

At  last  he  rushed  out  into  the  air,  and  did  not  return 
till  ten  o'clock  at  night.  He  came  back  pale  and  haggard, 
and  with  a  look  of  crime  upon  his  face. 

True  Bohemian  as  he  was,  he  sent  for  a  pint  of  brandy. 

So  then  the  die  was  cast,  and  something  was  to  be 
done  that  called  for  brandy. 

He  bolted  himself  in,  and  drank  a  wine-glass  of  it 
neat ;  then  another ;  then  another. 

Now  his  pale  cheek  is  flushed,  and  his  eye  glitters. 
Drink  forever !  great  ruin  of  English  souls  as  well  as 
bodies. 

He  put  the  poker  in  the  fire,  and  heated  it  red  hot. 

He  brought  Staines's  letter,  and  softened  the  sealing- 
wax  with  the  hot  poker ;  then  with  his  pen-knife  made  a 
neat  incision  in  the  wax,  and  opened  the  letter.  He 
took  out  the  ring,  and  put  it  carefully  away.  Then  he 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  read  the  letter,  and  studied  it. 
Many  a  man,  capable  of  murder  in  heat  of  passion, 
could  not  have  resisted  the  pathos  of  this  letter.  ]V[any 
a  Newgate  thief,  after  reading  it,  would  have  felt  such 
pity  for  the  loving  husband  who  had  suffered  to  the 
verge  of  death,  and  then  to  the  brink  of  madness,  and 
for  the  poor  bereaved  wife,  that  he  would  have  taken 


A   SINrPLETOIT.  401 

the  letter  down  to  Gravesend  that  very  night,  though  he 
picked  two  fresh  pockets  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the 
road. 

But  this  was  an  egotist.  Good  nature  had  curbed  his 
egotism  a  little  while ;  but  now  vanity  and  passion  had 
swept  away  all  unselfish  feelings,  and  the  pure  egotist 
alone  remained. 

Xow,  the  pure  egotist  has  been  defined  as  a  man  wlio 
will  burn  down  his  neighhoi^s  house  to  cook  himself  dM. 
^%%.  Murder  is  but  egotism  carried  out  to  its  natural 
climax.  What  is  murder  to  a  pure  egotist;  especially  a 
brandied  one  ? 

I  knew  an  egotist  who  met  a  female  acquaintance  in 
Newhaven  village.  She  had  a  one-pound  note,  and 
offered  to  treat  him.  She  changed  tliis  note  to  treat 
him.  Fish  she  gave  him,  and  much  whiskey.  Cost  her 
four  shillings.  He  ate  and  drank  with  her,  at  her  ex- 
pense ;  and  his  aorta,  or  principal  blood-vessel,  being 
warmed  with  her  whiskey,  he  murdered  her  for  the 
change,  the  odd  sixteen  shillings. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  egotist  hung,  with 
these  eyes.  It  was  a  slice  of  luck  that,  I  grieve  to  say, 
has  not  occurred  again  to  me. 

So  much  for  a  whiskied  egotist. 

His  less  truculent  but  equally  remorseless  brother  in 
villany,  the  brandied  egotist.  Falcon,  could  read  that 
poor  husband's  letter  without  blenching ;  the  love  and 
the  anticipations  of  rapture,  these  made  him  writhe  a 
little  with  jealousy,  but  they  roused  not  a  grain  of  pity. 
He  was  a  true  egotist,  blind,  remorseless. 

In  this,  his  true  character,  he  studied  the  letter  pro- 
foundly, and  mastered  all  the  facts,  and  digested  them 
well. 

All  manner  of  diabolical  artifices  presented  themselves 
to  his  brain,  barren  of  true  intellect,  yet  fertile  in  fraud  ,• 
26 


402  A  SIMPLETON. 

in  that,  and  all  low  cunning  and  subtlety,  far  more  than 
a  match  for  Solomon  or  Bacon. 

His  sinister  studies  were  pursued  far  into  the  night. 
Then  he  went  to  bed,  and  his  unbounded  egotism  gave 
him  the  sleep  a  grander  criminal  would  have  courted  in 
vain  on  the  verge  of  a  monstrous  and  deliberate  crime. 

Next  day  he  went  to  a  fashionable  tailor,  and  ordered 
a  complete  suit  of  black.  This  was  made  in  forty-eight 
hours ;  the  interval  was  spent  mainly  in  concocting  lies 
to  be  incorporated  with  the  number  of  minute  facts  he 
had  gained  from  Staines's  letter,  and  in  making  close 
imitations  of  his  handwriting. 

Thus  armed,  and  crammed  with  more  lies,  than  the 
"  Menteur  "  of  Corneille,  but  not  such  innocent  ones,  he 
went  down  to  Gravesend,  all  in  deep  mourning,  with 
crape  round  his  hat. 

He  presented  himself  at  the  villa. 

The  servant  was  all  obsequiousness.  Yes,  Mrs.  Staines 
received  few  visitors ;  but  she  was  at  home  to  him.  He 
even  began  to  falter  excuses.  "Nonsense,"  said  Falcon, 
and  slipped  a  sovereign  into  his  hand ;  "  you  are  a  good 
servant,  and  obey  orders." 

The  servant's  respect  doubled,  and  he  ushered  the 
visitor  into  the  drawing-room,  as  one  whose  name  was  a 
passport.     "  Mr.  Eeginald  Falcon,  madam." 

Mrs.  Staines  was  alone.  She  rose  to  meet  him.  Her 
color  came  and  went,  her  full  eye  fell  on  him,  and  took 
in  all  at  a  glance  —  that  he  was  all  in  black,  and  that  he 
had  a  beard,  and  looked  pale,  and  ill  at  ease. 

Little  dreaming  that  this  was  the  anxiety  of  a  felon 
about  to  take  the  actual  plunge  into  a  novel  crime,  she 
was  rather  prepossessed  by  it.  The  beard  gave  him  dig- 
nity, and  hid  his  mean,  cruel  mouth.  His  black  suit 
seemed  to  say  he,  too,  had  lost  some  one  dear  to  him  ; 
and  that  was  a  ground  of  sympathy. 


A   SIMPLETON.  403 

She  received  him  kindly,  and  thanked  him  for  taking 
the  trouble  to  come  again.  She  begged  him  to  be  seated ; 
and  then,  womanlike,  she  waited  for  him  to  explain. 

But  he  was  in  no  hurry,  and  waited  for  her.  He  knew 
she  would  speak  if  he  was  silent. 

She  could  not  keep  him  waiting  long.  "  Mr.  Falcon," 
said  she,  hesitating  a  little,  "  you  have  something  to  say 
to  me  about  him  I  have  lost." 

*'Yes,"  said  he  softly.  "I  have  something  I  could 
say,  and  I  think  I  ought  to  say  it ;  but  I  am  afraid :  be- 
cause I  don't  know  what  will  be  the  result.  I  fear  to 
make  you  more  unhappy." 

"  Me  !  more  unhappy  ?  Me,  whose  dear  husband  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  Other  poor  wounded  creat- 
ures have  the  wretched  comfort  of  knowing  where  he 
lies  —  of  carrying  flowers  to  his  tomb.  But  I  —  oh,  Mr. 
Falcon,  I  am  bereaved  of  all :  even  his  poor  remains  lost, 
—  lost  " — she  could  say  no  more. 

Then  that  craven  heart  began  to  quake  at  what  he 
was  doing ;  quaked,  yet  persevered ;  but  his  own  voice 
quivered,  and  his  cheek  grew  ashy  pale.  No  wonder. 
If  ever  God  condescended  to  pour  lightning  on  a  skunk, 
surely  now  was  the  time. 

Shaking  and  sweating  with  terror  at  his  own  act,  he 
stammered  out,  "  Would  it  be  the  least  comfort  to  you 
to  know  that  you  are  not  denied  that  poor  consolation  ? 
Suppose  he  died  not  so  miserably  as  you  think  ?  Sup- 
pose he  was  picked  up  at  sea,  in  a  dying  state  ?  " 

"  Ah ! " 

"  Suppose  he  lingered,  nursed  by  kind  and  sympathizing 
hands,  that  almost  saved  him  ?  Suppose  he  was  laid  in 
halloAved  ground,  and  a  great  many  tears  shed  over  his 
grave  ? " 

"  Ah,  that  would  indeed  be  a  comfort.  And  it  was  to 
say  this  you  came.     I  thank  you.     I  bless  you.     But,  my 


404  A   SIMPLETON. 

good,  kind  friend,  you  are  deceived.  You  don't  know 
my  husband.  You  never  saw  him.  He  perished  at 
sea." 

"  Will  it  be  kind  or  unkind,  to  tell  you  why  I  think  he 
died  as  I  tell  you,  and  not  at  sea  ?  " 

"  Kind,  but  impossible.  You  deceive  yourself.  Ah,  I 
see.  You  found  some  poor  sufferer,  and  were  good  to 
him ;  but  it  was  not  my  poor  Christie.  Oh,  if  it  were, 
I  should  worship  you.  But  I  thank  you  as  it  is.  It 
was  very  kind  to  want  to  give  me  this  little,  little  crumb 
of  comfort ;  for  I  know  I  did  not  behave  well  to  you, 
sir:  but  you  are  generous,  and  have  forgiven  a  poor 
heart-broken  creature,  that  never  was  very  wise." 

He  gave  her  time  to  cry,  and  then  said  to  her,  "  I  only 
wanted  to  be  sure  it  ivould  be  any  comfort  to  you.  Mrs. 
Staines,  it  is  true  I  did  not  even  know  his  name ;  nor 
yours.  When  I  met,  in  this  very  room,  the  great  dis- 
appointment that  has  saddened  my  own  life,  I  left  Eng- 
land directly.  I  collected  funds,  went  to  Natal,  and 
turned  land-owner  and  farmer.  I  have  made  a  large 
fortune,  but  I  need  not  tell  you  I  am  not  happy.  Well, 
I  had  a  yacht,  and  sailing  from  Cape  Town  to  Algoa  Bay, 
I  picked  up  a  raft,  with  a  dying  man  on  it.  He  was 
perishing  from  exhaustion  and  exposure.  I  got  a  little 
brandy  between  his  lips,  and  kept  him  alive.  I  landed 
with  him  at  once :  and  we  nursed  him  on  shore.  We 
had  to  be  very  cautious.  He  improved.  We  got  him  to 
take  egg-flip.  He  smiled  on  us  at  first,  and  then  he 
thanked  us.  I  nursed  him  day  and  night  for  ten  days. 
He  got  much  stronger.  He  spoke  to  me,  thanked  him 
again  and  again,  and  told  me  his  name  was  Christopher 
Staines.  He  told  me  that  he  should  never  get  well.  I 
implored  him  to  have  courage.  He  said  he  did  not  want 
for  courage ;  but  nature  had  been  tried  too  hard.  We 
got  so  fond  of  each  other.     Oh  ! "  —  and  the  caitiff  pre- 


A  SIMPLETON.  405 

tended  to  break  down;  and  his  feigned  grief  mingled 
with  Kosa's  despairing  sobs. 

He  made  an  apparent  effort,  and  said,  "He  spoke  to 
me  of  his  wife,  his  darling  Rosa.  The  name  made  me 
start,  but  I  could  not  know  it  was  you.  At  last  he  was 
strong  enough  to  write  a  few  lines,  and  he  made  me 
promise  to  take  them  to  his  wife." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Rosa.     "  Show  them  me." 

"  I  will." 

"This  moment."  And  her  hands  began  to  work 
convulsively. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Falcon.  "  I  have  not  brought  them 
with  me." 

Rosa  cast  a  keen  eye  of  suspicion  and  terror  on  him. 
His  not  bringing  the  letter  seemed  monstrous ;  and  so 
indeed  it  was.     The  fact  is,  the  letter  was  not  written. 

Falcon  affected  not  to  notice  her  keen  look.  He  flowed 
on,  "  The  address  he  put  on  that  letter  astonished  me. 
'Kent  Villa.'  Of  course  I  knew  Kent  Villa:  and  he 
called  you  '  Rosa.'  " 

"  How  could  you  come  to  me  without  that  letter  ?  " 
cried  Rosa,  wringing  her  hands.  "  How  am  I  to  know  ? 
It  is  all  so  strange,  so  incredible." 

"  Don't  you  believe  me  ?  "  said  Falcon  sadly.  "  Why 
should  I  deceive  you  ?  The  first  time  I  came  down  to 
tell  you  all  this,  I  did  not  kiiow  who  Mrs.  Staines  was. 
I  suspected  ;  but  no  more.  The  second  time  I  saw  you 
in  the  church,  and  then  I  knew ;  and  followed  you  to 
try  and  tell  you  all  this ;  and  you  were  not  at  home 
to  me." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Rosa  carelessly :  then  earnestly, 
"  The  letter !  when  can  I  see  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  send,  or  bring  it." 

"  Bring  it !  I  am  in  agony  till  I  see  it.  Oh,  my  dar- 
ling! my  darling!     It  can't  be  true.     It  was  not  my 


406  A  SIMPLETON. 

Christie.  He  lies  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean.  Lord 
Tadcaster  was  in  the  ship,  and  he  says  so ;  everybody 
says  so." 

"  And  I  say  he  sleeps  in  hallowed  ground,  and  these 
hands  laid  him  there." 

Rosa  lifted  her  hands  to  heaven,  and  cried  piteously, 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  You  would  not  willingly 
deceive  me.  But  how  can  this  be  ?  Oh,  Uncle  Philip, 
why  are  you  away  from  me  ?  Sir,  you  say  he  gave  you 
a  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  why,  why  did  you  not  bring  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  told  me  the  contents ;  and  I  thought  he 
prized  my  poor  efforts  too  highly.  It  did  not  occur  to 
me  you  would  doubt  my  word." 

"  Oh,  no :  no  more  I  do :  but  I  fear  it  was  not  my 
Christie." 

"  I'll  go  for  the  letter  at  once,  Mrs.  Staines." 

''  Oh,  thank  you !     Bless  you  !     Yes,  this  minute  ! " 

The  artful  rogue  did  not  go ;  never  intended. 

He  rose  to  go ;  but  had  a  sudden  inspiration ;  very 
sudden,  of  course.  '^Had  he  nothing  about  him  you 
could  recognize  him  by  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  had  a  ring  I  gave  him." 

Falcon  took  a  black-edged  envelope  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  A  ruby  ring,"  said  she,  beginning  to  tremble  at  his 
quiet  action. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  "  and  he  handed  her  a  ruby  ring. 


A   SIMPLETON.  407 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Mrs.  Staines  uttered  a  sharp  cry  and  seized  the  ring. 
Her  eyes  dilated  over  it,  and  she  began  to  tremble  in 
every  limb ;  and  at  last  she  sank  slowly  back,  and  her 
head  fell  on  one  side  like  a  broken  lily.  The  sudden 
sight  of  the  ring  overpowered  her  almost  to  fainting. 

Falcon  rose  to  call  for  assistance ;  but  she  made  him  a 
feeble  motion  not  to  do  so. 

She  got  the  better  of  her  faintness,  and  then  she  fell 
to  kissing  the  ring,  in  an  agony  of  love,  and  wept  over 
it,  and  still  held  it,  and  gazed  at  it  through  her  blinding 
tears. 

Falcon  eyed  her  uneasily. 

But  he  soon  found  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  For  a  long 
time  she  seemed  scarcely  aware  of  his  presence ;  and 
when  she  noticed  him,  it  was  to  thank  him,  almost 
passionately. 

"  It  was  my  Christie  you  were  so  good  to :  may  Heaven 
bless  you  for  it :  and  you  will  bring  me  his  letter,  will 
you  not  ?  " 

*'  Of  course  I  will." 

"  Oh,  do  not  go  yet.  It  is  all  so  strange :  so  sad.  I 
seem  to  have  lost  my  poor  Christie  again,  since  he  did 
not  die  at  sea.  But  no,  I  am  ungrateful  to  God,  and 
ungrateful  to  the  kind  friend  that  nursed  him  to  the  last. 
Ah,  I  envy  you  that.  Tell  me  all.  Never  mind  my 
crying.  I  have  seen  the  time  I  could  not  cry.  It  was 
worse  then  than  now.  I  shall  always  cry  when  I  speak 
of  him,  ay,  to  my  dying  day.     Tell  me,  tell  me  all." 

Her  passion  frightened  the  egotist,  but  did  not  turn 


408  A   SIMPLETON. 

him.  He  had  gone  too  far.  He  told  her  that,  after 
raising  all  their  hopes,  Dr.  Staines  had  suddenly  changed 
for  the  worse,  and  sunk  rapidly ;  that  his  last  words 
had  been  about  her,  and  he  had  said,  "  My  poor  Rosa, 
who  will  protect  her  ?  "  That,  to  comfort  him,  he  had 
said  he  would  protect  her.  Then  the  dying  man  had 
managed  to  write  a  line  or  two,  and  to  address  it.  Almost 
his  last  words  had  been,  "  Be  a  father  to  my  child." 

"  That  is  strange." 

"  You  have  no  child  ?  Then  it  must  have  been  you 
he  meant.     He  spoke  of  you  as  a  child  more  than  once." 

"  Mr.  Falcon,  I  have  a  child ;  but  born  since  I  lost  my 
poor  child's  father." 

"  Then  I  think  he  knew  it.  They  say  that  dying  men 
can  see  all  over  the  world :  and  I  remember,  when  he 
said  it,  his  eyes  seemed  fixed  very  strangely,  as  if  on 
something  distant.  Oh,  how  wonderful  all  this  is.  May 
I  see  his  child,  to  whom  I  promised  "  — 

The  artist  in  lies  left  his  sentence  half  completed. 

Rosa  rang,  and  sent  for  her  little  boy. 

Mr.  Falcon  admired  his  beauty,  and  said  quietly,  "  I 
shall  keep  my  vow." 

He  then  left  her,  with  a  promise  to  come  back  early 
next  morning  with  the  letter. 

She  let  him  go  only  on  those  conditions. 

As  soon  as  her  father  came  in,  she  ran  to  him  with 
this  strange  story. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  he.     "  It  is  impossible." 

She  showed  him  the  proof,  the  ruby  ring. 

Then  he  became  very  uneasy,  and  begged  her  not  to 
tell  a  soul.  He  did  not  tell  her  the  reason,  but  he  feared 
the  insurance  office  would  hear  of  it,  and  require  proofs 
of  Christopher's  decease,  whereas  they  had  accepted  it 
without  a  murmur,  on  the  evidence  of  Captain  Hamilton 
and  the  Amphitrite's  log-book. 


A   SIMPLETON.  409 

As  for  Falcon^  lie  Avent  carefully  tlirougli  Staines's  two 
setters,  and  wherever  he  found  a  word  that  suited  his 
purpose,  he  traced  it  by  the  usual  process,  and  so,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  hours,  he  concocted  a  short  letter,  all 
the  words  in  which,  except  three,  were  facsimiles,  only 
here  and  there  a  little  shaky ;  the  three  odd  words  he 
Aad  to  imitate  by  observation  of  the  letters.  The  sig- 
nature he  got  to  perfection  by  tracing. 

He  inserted  this  letter  in  the  original  envelope,  and 
sealed  it  very  carefully,  so  as  to  hide  that  the  seal  had 
been  tampered  with. 

Thus  armed,  he  went  down  to  Gravesend.  There  he 
hired  a  horse  and  rode  to  Kent  Villa. 

Why  he  hired  a  horse,  he  knew  how  hard  it  is  to 
forge  handwriting,  and  he  chose  to  have  the  means  of 
escape  at  hand. 

He  came  into  the  drawing-room,  ghastly  pale,  and 
almost  immediately  gave  her  the  letter ;  then  turned  his 
back,  feigning  delicacy.  In  reality  he  was  quaking  with 
fear  lest  she  should  suspect  the  handwriting.  But  the 
envelope  was  addressed  by  Staines,  and  paved  the  way 
for  the  letter ;  she  was  unsuspicious  and  good,  and  her 
heart  cried  out  for  her  husband's  last  written  words  :  at 
such  a  moment,  what  chance  had  judgment  and  suspicion 
in  an  innocent  and  loving  soul  ? 

Her  eloquent  sighs  and  sobs  soon  told  the  caitiff  he 
had  nothing  to  fear. 

The  letter  ran  thus  :  — 

My  own  Rosa,  —  All  that  a  brother  could  do  for  a  beloved 
brother,  Falcon  has  done,  lie  nursed  mc  night  and  day.  But 
it  is  vain.  I  shall  never  see  you  again  in  this  world.  I  send 
you  a  protector,  and  a  father  to  your  child.  Value  him.  lie 
has  promised  to  be  your  stay  on  earth,  and  my  spirit  shall 
watch  over  you.  — To  my  last  breath,  your  loving  husband, 

CiuabToriiEU  Stalnes. 


410  A  SIMPLETON. 

Falcon  rose,  and  began  to  steal  on  tiptoe  out  of  the 
room. 

Rosa  stopped  him.  "You  need  not  go,"  said  she. 
"You  are  our  friend.  By  and  by  I  hope  I  shall  find 
words  to  thank  you." 

"  Pray  let  me  retire  a  moment,"  said  the  hypocrite. 
"A  husband's  last  words  :  too  sacred  — a  stranger:  "  and 
he  went  out  into  the  garden.  There  he  found  the  nurse- 
maid Emily,  and  the  little  boy. 

He  stopped  the  child,  and  made  love  to  the  nursemaid ; 
showed  her  his  diamonds  —  he  carried  them  all  about 
him  —  told  her  he  had  thirty  thousand  acres  in  Cape 
Colony,  and  diamonds  on  them ;  and  was  going  to  buy 
•ihirty  thousand  more  of  the  government.  "  Here,  take 
one,"  said  he.  "  Oh,  you  needn't  be  shy.  They  are 
common  enough  on  my  estates.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
though,  you  could  not  buy  that  for  less  than  thirty 
pounds  at  any  shop  in  London.  Could  she,  my  little 
duck  ?  Never  mind,  it  is  no  brighter  than  her  eyes. 
Now  do  you  know  what  she  will  do  with  that,  Master 
Christie  ?  She  will  give  it  to  some  duffer  to  put  in  a 
pin." 

"  She  won't  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Emily, 
flushing  all  over.  "  She  is  not  such  a  fool."  She  then 
volunteered  to  tell  him  she  had  no  sweetheart,  and  did 
not  trouble  her  head  about  young  men  at  all.  He  inter- 
preted this  to  mean  she  was  looking  out  for  one.  So 
do  I. 

"  No  sweetheart ! "  said  he ;  "  and  the  prettiest  girl  I 
have  seen  since  I  landed :  then  I  put  in  for  the  situation." 

Here,  seeing  the  footman  coming,  he  bestowed  a  most 
paternal  kiss  on  little  Christie,  and  saying,  "Not  a  word 
to  John,  or  no  more  diamonds  from  me ;  "  he  moved 
carefully  away,  leaving  the  girl  all  in  a  flutter  with 
extravagant  hopes. 


A  SIMPLETON".  411 

The  next  moment  this  wolf  in  the  sheep-fold  entered 
the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Staines  was  not  there.  He 
waited,  and  waited,  and  began  to  get  rather  uneasy,  as 
men  will  who  walk  among  pitfalls. 

Presently  the  footman  came  to  say  that  Mrs.  Staines 
was  with  hei'  father,  in  his  study,  but  she  would  come  to 
him  in  five  minutes. 

This  increased  his  anxiety.  What !  She  was  taking 
advice  of  an  older  head.  He  began  to  be  very  seriously 
alarmed,  and,  indeed,  had  pretty  well  made  up  his  mind 
to  go  down  and  gallop  off,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
Rosa  came  hastily  in.  Her  eyes  were  very  red  with 
weeping.  She  canie  to  him  with  both  hands  extended  to 
him ;  he  gave  her  his,  timidly.  She  pressed  them  with 
such  earnestness  and  power  as  he  could  not  have  sus- 
pected ;  and  thanked  him,  and  blessed  him,  with  such  a 
torrent  of  eloquence,  that  he  hung  his  head  with  shame ; 
and,  being  unable  to  face  it  out,  villain  as  he  was,  yet 
still  artful  to  the  core,  he  pretended  to  burst  out  crying, 
and  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  rode  away. 

He  waited  two  days,  and  then  called  again.  Rosa 
reproached  him  sweetly  for  going  before  she  had  half 
thanked  him. 

''All  the  better,"  said  he.  "I  have  been  thanked  a 
great  deal  too  much  already.  Who  would  not  do  his  best 
for  a  dying  countryman,  and  fight  night  and  day  to  save 
him  for  his  wife  and  child  at  home  ?  If  I  had  succeeded, 
then  I  would  be  greedy  of  praise  :  but  now  it  makes  me 
blush ;  it  makes  me  very  sad." 

"  You  did  your  best,"  said  Rosa  tearfully. 

"  Ah  !  that  I  did.  Indeed,  I  was  ill  for  weeks  after, 
myself,  through  the  strain  upon  my  mind,  and  the  dis- 
appointment, and  going  so  many  nights  without  sleep. 
But  don't  let  us  talk  of  that." 

"  Do  you  know  what  my  darling  says  to  me  in  my 
letter  ?  " 


412  A   SIMPLETON. 

''No." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  should  ;  but  I  have  no  right." 

''  Every  right.  It  is  the  only  mark  of  esteem,  worth 
anything,  I  can  show  you." 

She  handed  him  the  letter,  and  buried  her  own  face  in 
her  hands. 

He  read  it,  and  acted  the  deepest  emotion. 

He  handed  it  back,  without  a  word. 


A  SmPLETON.  413 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

From  this  time  Falcon  was  always  welcome  at  Kent 
Villa.  He  fascinated  everybody  in  the  house.  He 
renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lusignan,  and  got 
asked  to  stay  a  week  in  the  house.  He  showed  Rosa 
and  her  father  the  diamonds,  and,  the  truth  must  be 
owned,  they  made  Rosa's  eyes  sparkle  for  the  first  time 
this  eighteen  months.  He  insinuated  rather  than  declared 
his  enormous  wealth. 

In  reply  to  the  old  man's  eager  questions,  as  the  large 
diamonds  lay  glittering  on  the  table,  and  pointed  every 
word,  he  said  that  a  few  of  his  Hottentots  had  found 
these  for  him ;  he  had  made  them  dig  on  a  diamondifer- 
ous  part  of  his  estate,  just  by  way  of  testing  the  matter ; 
and  this  was  the  result ;  this,  and  a  much  larger  stone, 
for  which  he  had  received  eight  thousand  pounds  from 
Posno. 

"  If  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  Lusignan,  *'  I  would  go 
out  directly,  and  dig  on  your  estate." 

"  I  would  not  let  you  do  anything  so  paltry,"  said  "  le 
Menteur."  "  Why,  my  dear  sir,  there  are  no  fortunes  to 
be  made  by  grubbing  for  diamonds  ;  tlie  fortunes  are 
made  out  of  the  diamonds,  but  not  in  that  way.  Now, 
I  have  thirty  thousand  acres,  and  am  just  concluding  a 
bargain  for  thirty  thousand  more,  on  which  I  happen  to 
know  there  are  diamonds  in  a  sly  corner.  Well,  of  my 
thirty  thousand  tried  acres,  a  hundred  only  are  diamond- 
iferous.  But  I  have  four  thousand  thirty-foot  claims 
leased  at  ten  shillings  per  month.     Count  that  up." 

"  Why,  it  is  twenty-four  thousand  pounds  a  year." 


414  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Excuse  me :  you  must  deduct  a  thousand  a  year  for 
the  expenses  of  collection.  But  this  is  only  one  phase 
of  the  business.  I  have  a  large  inn  upon  each  of  the 
three  great  routes  from  the  diamonds  to  the  coast ;  and 
these  inns  are  supplied  with  the  produce  of  my  own 
farms.  Mark  the  effect  of  the  diamonds  on  property. 
My  sixty  thousand  acres,  which  are  not  diamondiferous, 
will  very  soon  be  worth  as  much  as  sixty  thousand  Eng- 
lish acres,  say  two  pounds  the  acre  per  annum.  That  is 
under  the  mark,  because  in  Africa  the  land  is  not  bur- 
dened with  poor-rates,  tithes,  and  all  the  other  iniquities 
that  crush  the  English  land-owner,  as  I  know  to  my  cost. 
But  that  is  not  all,  sir.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  even 
after  the  diamonds  were  declared,  the  people  out  there 
had  so  little  foresight  that  they  allowed  me  to  buy  land 
all  round  Port  Elizabeth,  Natal,  and  Cape  Town,  the 
three  ports  through  which  the  world  get  at  the  diamonds, 
and  the  diamonds  get  at  the  world.  I  have  got  a  girdle 
of  land  round  those  three  outlets,  bought  by  the  acre ;  in 
two  years  I  shall  sell  it  by  the  yard.  Believe  me,  sir, 
English  fortunes,  even  the  largest,  are  mere  child's  play, 
compared  with  the  colossal  wealth  a  man  can  accumulate, 
if  he  looks  beyond  these  great  discoveries  to  their  conse- 
quences, and  lets  others  grub  for  him.  But  what  is  the 
use  of  it  all  to  me  ?  "  said  this  Bohemian,  with  a  sigh. 
"I  have  no  taste  for  luxuries;  no  love  of  display.  I 
have  not  even  charity  to  dispense  on  a  large  scale ;  for 
there  are  no  deserving  poor  out  there ;  and  the  poverty 
that  springs  from  vice,  that  I  never  will  encourage." 

John  heard  nearly  all  this,  and  took  it  into  the 
kitchen ;  and  henceforth  Adoration  was  the  only  word 
for  this  prince  of  men,  this  rare  combination  of  the 
Adonis  and  the  millionnaire. 

He  seldom  held  such  discourses  before  Rosa;  but 
talked  her  father  into  an  impression  of  his  boundless 


A   SmPLETON.  415 

wealth,  and  half  reconciled  him  to  Rosa's  refusal  of 
Lord  Tadcaster,  since  here  was  an  old  suitor,  who,  doubt- 
less, with  a  little  encouragement,  would  soon  come  on 
again. 

Under  this  impression,  Mr.  Lusignan  gave  Palcon  more 
than  a  little  encouragement,  and,  as  Rosa  did  not  resist, 
he  became  a  constant  visitor  at  the  villa,  and  was  always 
there  from  Saturday  to  Monday. 

He  exerted  all  his  art  of  pleasing,  and  he  succeeded. 
He  was  welcome  to  Rosa,  and  she  made  no  secret  of  it. 

Emily  threw  herself  in  his  way,  and  had  many  a  sly 
talk  with  him,  while  he  was  pretending  to  be  engaged 
with  young  Christie.  He  flattered  her,  and  made  her 
sweet  on  him,  but  was  too  much  in  love  with  Rosa,  after 
his  fashion,  to  flirt  seriously  with  her.  He  thought  he 
might  want  her  services :  so  he  worked  upon  her  after 
this  fashion  ;  asked  her  if  she  would  like  to  keep  an  inn. 

"  Wouldn't  I  just  ?  "  said  she  frankly. 

Then  he  told  her  that,  if  all  went  to  his  wish  in 
England,  she  should  be  landlady  of  one  of  his  inns  in 
the  Cape  Colony.  ''And  you  will  get  a  good  husband 
out  there  directly,''  said  he.  "  BeauLy  is  a  very  uncom- 
mon  thing  in  those  parts.  But  I  shall  ask  you  to  marry 
somebody  who  can  help  you  in  the  business  —  or  not  to 
marry  at  all." 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  inn,"  said  Emily.  "  Husbands  are 
soon  got  when  a  girl  hasn't  her  face  only  to  look  to." 

"Well,  I  promise  you  the  inn,"  said  he,  "and  a  good 
outfit  of  clothes,  and  money  in  both  pockets,  if  you  will 
do  me  a  good  turn  here  in  England." 

"That  I  would,  sir.  But,  laws,  what  can  a  poor  giii 
like  me  do  for  a  rich  gentleman  like  you  ?  " 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Emily  ?  " 

"  Nobody  better.     You  try  me,  sir." 

He  looked  at  her  well  j  saw  she  was  one  of  those  who 


416  A   SIMPLETON. 

could  keep  a  secret,  if  she  chose,  and  he  resolved  to  risk 
it. 

"Emily,  my  girl,"  said  he  sadly,  "I  am  an  unhappy 
man." 

"  You,  sir  !     Why,  you  didn't  ought  to  be." 

"  I  am  then.     I  am  in  love ;  and  cannot  win  her." 

Then  he  told  the  girl  a  pretty  tender  tale,  that  he  had 
loved  Mrs.  Staines  when  she  was  Miss  Lusignan,  had 
thought  himself  beloved  in  turn,  but  was  rejected ;  and 
now,  though  she  was  a  widow,  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
court  her,  her  heart  was  in  the  grave.  He  spoke  in  such 
a  broken  voice  that  the  girl's  good-nature  fought  against 
her  little  pique  at  finding  how  little  he  was  smitten 
with  her,  and  Falcon  soon  found  means  to  array  Ler 
cupidity  on  the  side  of  her  good-nature.  He  gave  Ler 
a  five-pound  note  to  buy  gloves,  and  promised  hei'  a 
fortune,  and  she  undertook  to  be  secret  as  the  grave, 
and  say  certain  things  adroitly  to  Mrs.  Staines, 

Accordingly,  this  young  woman  omitted  no  opportunity 
of  dropping  a  word  in  favor  of  Falcon.  For  one  thing, 
she  said  to  Mrs.  Staines,  "  Mr.  Falcon  must  be  very  fond 
of  children,  ma'am.    Why,  he  worships  Master  Christie." 

"  Indeed !     I  have  not  observed  that." 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am.  He  is  rather  shy  over  it ;  but 
when  he  sees  us  alone,  he  is  sure  to  come  to  us,  and  say, 
*  Let  me  look  at  my  child,  nurse  ; '  and  he  do  seem  fit  to 
eat  him.  Oust  he  says  to  me,  '  This  boy  is  my  heir, 
nurse.'    What  did  he  mean  by  that,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Is  he  any  kin  to  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

"None  whatever.  You  must  have  misunderstood  him. 
You  should  not  repeat  all  that  people  say." 

"No,  ma'am  ;  only  I  did  think  it  so  odd.  Poor  gentle- 
man, I  don't  think  he  is  happy,  for  all  his  money." 

"  He  is  too  good  to  be  unhappy  all  his  life." 


A  SIMPLETON.  417 

"  So  I  think,  ma'am." 

These  conversations  were  always  short,  for  Rosa, 
though  she  was  too  kind  and  gentle  to  snub  the  girl, 
was  also  too  delicate  to  give  the  least  encouragement  to 
her  gossip. 

But  Rosa's  was  a  mind  that  could  be  worked  upon, 
and  these  short  but  repeated  eulogies  were  not  altogether 
without  effect. 

At  last  the  insidious  Falcon,  by  not  making  his 
approaches  in  a  way  to  alarm  her,  acquired  her  friend- 
ship as  well  as  her  gratitude ;  and,  in  short,  she  got  used 
to  him  and  liked  him.  Not  being  bound  by  any  limit 
of  fact  whatever,  he  entertained  her,  and  took  her  out  of 
herself  a  little  by  extemporaneous  pictures  ;  he  told  her 
all  his  thrilling  adventures  by  flood  and  field,  not  one  of 
which  had  ever  occurred,  yet  he  made  them  all  sound 
like  truth  ;  he  invented  strange  characters,  and  set  them 
talking ;  he  went  after  great  whales,  and  harpooned  one, 
which  slapped  his  boat  into  fragments  with  one  stroke 
of  its  tail ;  then  died,  and  he  hung  on  by  the  harpoon 
protruding  from  the  carcass  till  a  ship  came  and  picked 
him  up.  He  shot  a  lion  that  was  carrying  off  his  favorite 
Hottentot.  He  encountered  another,  wounded  him  with 
both  barrels,  was  seized,  and  dragged  along  the  ground, 
and  gave  himself  up  for  lost,  but  kept  firing  his  revolver 
down  the  monster's  throat  till  at  last  he  sickened  him, 
and  so  escaped  out  of  death's  maw  ;  he  did  not  say  how 
he  had  fired  in  the  air,  and  ridden  fourteen  miles  on  end, 
at  the  bare  sight  of  a  lion's  cub ;  but,  to  compensate  that 
one  reserve,  plunged  into  a  raging  torrent  and  saved  a 
drowning  woman  by  her  long  hair,  which  he  caught  in 
his  teeth  ;  he  rode  a  race  on  an  ostrich  against  a  friend 
on  a  zebra,  which  went  faster,  but  threw  Ids  rider,  and 
screamed  with  rage  at  not  being  able  to  eat  him  ;  he, 
Falcon,  having  declined  to  run  unless  liis  friend's  zebra 


418  A  SIMPLETON". 

was  muzzled.  He  fed  the  hungry,  clothed  the  naked, 
and  shot  a  wild  elephant  in  the  eye ;  and  all  this  he 
enlivened  with  pictorial  descriptions  of  no  mean  beauty, 
and  as  like  South  Africa  as  if  it  had  been  feu  George 
Robins  advertising  that  continent  for  sale. 

In  short,  never  was  there  a  more  voluble  and  interest- 
ing liar  by  word  of  mouth,  and  never  was  there  a  more 
agreeable  creature  interposed  between  a  bereaved  widow 
and  her  daily  grief  and  regrets.  He  diverted  her  mind 
from  herself,  and  did  her  good. 

At  last,  such  was  the  charm  of  infinite  lying,  she 
missed  him  on  the  days  he  did  not  come,  and  was 
brighter  when  he  did  come  and  lie. 

Things  went  smoothly,  and  so  pleasantly,  that  he 
would  gladly  have  prolonged  this  form  of  courtship  for 
a  month  or  two  longer,  sooner  than  risk  a  premature 
declaration.  But  more  than  one  cause  drove  him  to  a 
bolder  course ;  his  passion,  which  increased  in  violence 
by  contact  with  its  beautiful  object,  and  also  a  great 
uneasiness  he  felt  at  not  hearing  from  Phoebe.  This 
silence  was  ominous.  He  and  she  knew  each  other, 
and  what  the  other  was  capable  of.  He  knew  she  was 
the  woman  to  cross  the  seas  after  him,  if  Staines  left  the 
diggings,  and  any  explanation  took  place  that  might 
point  to  his  whereabouts. 

These  double  causes  precipitated  matters,  and  at  last 
he  began  to  throw  more  devotion  into  his  manner ;  and 
having  so  prepared  her  for  a  few  days,  he  took  his  oppor- 
tunity and  said,  one  day,  "We  are  both  unhappy.  Give 
me  the  right  to  console  you." 

She  colored  high,  and  said,  "You  have  consoled  me 
more  than  all  the  world.  But  there  is  a  limit;  always 
will  be." 

One  less  adroit  would  have  brought  her  to  the  point ; 
but  this  artist  only  sighed,  and  let  the  arrow  rankle.    By 


A  SEVIPLETON.  419 

this  means  he  out-fenced  her ;  for  now  she  had  listened 
to  a  declaration  and  not  stopped  it  short. 

He  played  melancholy  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  he 
tried  her  another  way.  He  said,  "  I  promised  your  dying 
husband  to  be  your  protector,  and  a  father  to  his  child. 
I  see  but  one  way  to  keep  my  word,  and  that  gives  me 
courage  to  speak  —  without  that  I  never  could.  Rosa, 
I  loved  you  years  ago,  I  am  unmarried  for  your  sake. 
Let  me  be  your  husband,  and  a  father  to  your  child." 

Rosa  shook  her  head.  "  I  could  not  marry  again.  I 
esteem  you,  I  am  very  grateful  to  you :  and  I  knoAv  I 
behaved  ill  to  you  before.  If  I  could  marry  again,  it 
would  be  you.     But  I  cannot.     Oh,  never  !  never  ! " 

"  Then  we  both  are  to  be  unhappy  all  our  days." 

"  I  shall,  as  I  ought  to  be.  You  will  not,  I  hope.  I 
shall  miss  you  sadly ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  advise  you  to 
leave  me.  You  will  carry  my  everlasting  gratitude,  go 
where  you  will ;  that  and  my  esteem  are  all  I  have  to 
give." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  hope  he  who  is  gone  will 
forgive  my  want  of  courage." 

"  He  who  is  gone  took  my  promise  never  to  marry 
again." 

"  Dying  men  see  clearer.  I  am  sure  he  wished  —  no 
matter ;  it  is  too  delicate."  He  kissed  her  hand  and 
went  out,  a  picture  of  dejection. 

Mrs.  Staines  shed  a  tear  for  him. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  him  for  several  days  ;  and  Rosa 
pitied  him  more  and  more,  and  felt  a  certain  discontent 
with  herself,  and  doubt  whether  she  had  done  right. 

Matters  were  in  this  state,  when  one  morning  Emily 
came  screaming  in  from  the  garden,  "  The  child !  — 
Master  Christie! — Where  is  he?  —  Where  is  he?" 

The  house  was  alarmed.  The  garden  searched,  the 
adjoining  paddock.     The  child  was  gone. 


420  A   SIMPLETON. 

Emily  was  examined,  and  owned,  with  many  sobs  and 
hysterical  cries,  that  she  had  put  him  down  in  the  sum- 
mer-house for  a  minute,  while  she  went  to  ask  the  gardener 
for  some  balm,  balm  tea  being  a  favorite  drink  of  hers. 
"  But  there  was  nobody  near  that  I  saw,"  she  sobbed. 

Further  inquiry  proved,  however,  that  a  tall  gypsy 
woman  had  been  seen  prowling  about  that  morning ;  and 
suspicion  instantly  fastened  on  her.  Servants  were  sent 
out  right  and  left;  but  nothing  discovered;  and  the 
agonized  mother,  terrified  out  of  her  wits,  had  Falcon 
telegraphed  to  immediately. 

He  came  galloping  down  that  very  evening,  and  heard 
the  story.  He  galloped  into  Gravesend,  and  after  seeing 
the  police,  sent  word  out  he  should  advertise.  He 
placarded  Gravesend  with  bills,  offering  a  reward  of 
a  thousand  pounds,  the  child  to  be  brought  to  him,  and 
no  questions  asked. 

Meantime  the  police  and  many  of  the  neighboring 
gentry  came  about  the  miserable  mother  with  their 
vague  ideas. 

Down  comes  Falcon  again  next  day ;  tells  what  he 
has  done,  and  treats  them  all  with  contempt.  "  Don't 
you  be  afraid,  Mrs.  Staines,"  said  he.  "  You  will  get 
him  back.  I  have  taken  the  sure  way.  This  sort  of 
rogues  dare  not  go  near  the  police,  and  the  police  can't 
find  them.  You  have  no  enemies ;  it  is  only  some 
woman  that  has  fancied  a  beautiful  child.  Well,  she 
can  have  them  by  the  score,  for  a  thousand  pounds." 

He  was  the  only  one  with  a  real  idea;  the  woman  saw 
it,  and  clung  to  him.     He  left  late  at  night. 

Next  morning  out  came  the  advertisements,  and  he 
sent  her  a  handful  by  special  messenger.  His  zeal  and 
activity  kept  her  bereaved  heart  from  utter  despair. 

At  eleven  that  night  came  a  telegraph :  — 

"  I  have  got  him.    Coming  down  by  special  train." 


A  SBIPLETO^T.  421 

Then  what  a  burst  of  joy  and  gratitude !  The  very 
walls  of  the  house  seemed  to  ring  with  it  as  a  harp  rings 
with  music.  A  special  train,  too !  he  would  not  let  the 
mother  yearn  all  night. 

At  one  in  the  morning  he  drove  up  with  the  child  and 
a  hired  nurse. 

Imagine  the  scene  !  The  mother's  screams  of  joy, 
her  furious  kisses,  her  cooing,  her  tears,  and  all  the 
miracles  of  nature  at  such  a  time.  The  servants  all 
mingled  with  their  employers  in  the  general  rapture, 
and  Emily,  who  was  pale  as  death,  cried  and  sobbed,  and 
said,  "Oh,  ma'am,  I'll  never  let  him  out  of  my  sight 
again,  no,  not  for  one  minute."  Falcon  made  her  a 
signal,  and  went  out.     She  met  him  in  the  garden. 

She  was  much  agitated,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  you  did  well 
to  bring  him  to-day.  I  could  not  have  kept  it  another 
hour.     I'm  a  wretch." 

"  You  are  a  good  kind  girl ;  and  here's  the  fifty  pounds 
I  promised  you." 

"Yfell,  and  I  have  earned  it." 

"  Of  course  you  have.  Meet  me  in  the  garden  to-morrow 
morning,  and  I'll  show  you  you  have  done  a  kind  thing 
to  your  mistress,  as  well  as  me.  And  as  for  the  fifty 
pounds,  that  is  nothing ;  do  you  hear?  it  is  nothing  at 
all,  compared  with  what  I  will  do  for  you,  if  you  Avill  be 
true  to  me,  and  hold  your  tongue." 

"  Oh !  as  for  that,  my  tongue  shan't  betray  you,  nor 
shame  me.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  I  do  think  you  love 
her,  or  I  would  not  help  you." 

So  she  salved  her  nursemaid's  conscience  —  with  the 
help  of  the  fifty  pounds. 

The  mother  was  left  to  her  rapture  that  night.  In  the 
morning  Falcon  told  his  tale. 

"At  two  P.M.  a  man  had  called  on  him,  and  had  pro- 
duced one  of  his  advertisements,  and  had  asked  him  if 


422  A  SIMPLETON. 

that  was  all  square  —  no  bobbies  on  the  lurk.  '  All 
square,  my  fine  fellow.'  'Well,'  said  he,  'I  suppose  you 
are  a  gentleman.'  *I  am  of  that  opinion  too.'  '  Well,  sir,' 
says  he,  '  I  know  a  party  as  has  found  a  young  gent  as 
comes  werry  nigh  your  advertisement.'  *It  will  be  a 
very  lucky  find  to  that  party,'  I  said,  'if  he  is  on  the 
square.'  'Oh,  we  are  always  on  the  square,  when  the 
blunt  is  put  down.'  '  The  blunt  for  the  child,  when  you 
like,  and  where  you  like,'  said  I.  'You  are  the  right 
sort,'  said  he.  '  I  am,'  replied  I.  '  Will  you  come  and 
see  if  it  is  all  right  ? '  said  he.  *  In  a  minute,'  said  I. 
Stepped  into  my  bedroom,  and  loaded  my  six-shooter." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Lusignan. 

"  A  revolver  with  six  barrels :  by  the  by,  the  very  same 
I  killed  the  lion  with.  Ugh !  I  never  think  of  that  scene 
without  feeling  a  little  quiver ;  and  my  nerves  are  pretty 
good,  too.  Well,  he  took  me  into  an  awful  part  of  the 
town,  down  a  filthy  close,  into  some  boozing  ken  —  I  beg 
pardon,  some  thieves'  public-house." 

"Oh,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Eosa,  "were  you  not 
frightened  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth,  or  play  the  hero  ?  I  think 
I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  I  felt  a  little  frightened,  lest  they 
should  get  my  money  and  my  life,  without  my  getting 
my  godson:  that  is  what  I  call  him  now.  Well,  two 
ugly  dogs  cam.  in,  and  said,  'Let  us  see  the  flimsies, 
before  you  see  the  kid.' 

" 'That  is  rather  sharp  practice,  I  think,'  said  I;  'how- 
ever, here's  the  swag,  and  here's  the  watch-dog.'  So  I 
put  down  the  notes,  and  my  hand  over  them  with  my 
revolver  cocked,  and  ready  to  fire." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Eosa  pantingly.  "Ah,  you  were  a 
match  for  them." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Staines,  if  I  was  writing  you  a  novel,  I 
suppose  I  should  tell  you  the  rogues  recoiled;  but  the 


A  SIMPLETON.  423 

truth  is  they  only  laughed,  and  were  quite  pleased. 
'  Swell's  in  earnest/  said  one,  '  Jem,  show  the  kid.'  Jem 
whistled,  and  in  came  a  great  tall  black  gypsy  woman, 
with  the  darling.  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth,  but  I 
would  not  let  them  see  it.  I  said, '  It  is  all  right.  Take 
half  the  notes  here,  and  half  at  the  door,'  They  agreed, 
and  then  I  did  it  quick,  walked  to  the  door,  took  the 
child,  gave  them  the  odd  notes,  and  made  off  as  fast  as 
I  could,  hired  a  nurse  at  the  hospital  —  and  the  rest  you 
know." 

"Papa,"  said  Rosa,  with  enthusiasm,  "there  is  but  one 
man  in  England  who  would  have  got  me  back  my  child, 
and  this  is  he." 

When  they  were  alone.  Falcon  told  her  she  had  said 
words  that  gladdened  his  very  heart.  "  You  admit  I  can 
carry  out  one  half  of  his  wishes  ?  "  said  he. 

Mrs.  Staines  said  "  Yes,"  then  colored  high ;  then,  to 
turn  it  off,  said,  "But  I  cannot  allow  you  to  lose  that 
large  sum  of  money.     You  must  let  me  repay  you." 

"  Large  sum  of  money  ! "  said  he.  "  It  is  no  more  to 
me  than  sixpence  to  most  people.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do  with  my  money ;  and  I  never  shall  know,  unless  you 
will  make  a  sacrifice  of  your  own  feelings  to  the  wishes 
of  the  dead.  0  Mrs.  Staines  —  Rosa,  do  pray  consider 
that  a  man  of  that  wisdom  sees  the  future,  and  gives 
wise  advice.  Sure  am  I  that,  if  you  could  overcome  your 
natural  repugnance  to  a  second  marriage,  it  would  be  the 
best  thing  for  your  little  boy  —  I  love  him  already  as  if 
he  were  my  own  —  and  in  time  would  bring  you  peace 
and  comfort,  and  some  day,  years  hence,  even  happiness. 
You  are  my  only  love ;  yet  I  should  never  have  come  to 
you  again  if  he  had  not  sent  me.  Do  consider  how 
strange  it  all  is,  and  what  it  points  to,  and  don't  let  me 
have  the  misery  of  losing  you  again,  when  you  can  do  no 
better  now,  alas  !  than  reward  my  fidelity." 


424  A   SIMPLETON. 

She  was  much  moved  at  this  artful  appeal,  and  said, 
"If  I  was  sure  I  was  obeying  his  will.  But  how  can  I 
feel  that,  when  we  both  promised  never  to  wed  again  ?  " 

"  A  man's  dying  words  are  more  sacred  than  any  other. 
You  have  his  letter." 

"  Yes,  but  he  does  not  say  '  marry  again.' " 

"  That  is  what  he  meant,  though." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?     How  can  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  put  the  words  he  said  to  me  together  with 
that  short  line  to  you.  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  he  did  not 
exaggerate  my  poor  merits ;  on  the  contrary,  I  think  he 
did.  But  I  declare  to  you  that  he  did  hope  I  should 
take  care  of  you  and  your  child.  Eight  or  wrong,  it  was 
his  wish,  so  pray  do  not  deceive  yourself  on  that  point." 

This  made  more  impression  on  her  than  anything  else 
he  could  say,  and  she  said,  "  I  promise  you  one  thing,  I 
will  never  marry  any  man  but  you." 

Instead  of  pressing  her  further,  as  an  inferior  artist 
would,  he  broke  into  raptures,  kissed  her  hand  tenderly, 
and  was  in  such  high  spirits,  and  so  voluble  all  day,  that 
she  smiled  sweetly  on  him,  and  thought  to  herself,  "Poor 
soul !  how  happy  I  could  make  him  with  a  word ! " 

As  he  was  always  watching  her  face  —  a  practice  he 
carried  further  than  any  person  living  —  he  divined  that 
sentiment,  and  wrought  upon  it  so,  that  at  last  he 
tormented  her  into  saying  she  would  marry  him  soyne 
day. 

When  he  had  brought  her  to  that,  he  raged  inwardly 
to  think  he  had  not  two  years  to  work  in;  for  it  was  evi- 
dent she  would  marry  him  in  time.  But  no,  it  had  taken 
him  more  than  four  months,  close  siege,  to  bring  her  to 
that.  No  word  from  Phoebe.  An  ominous  dread  hung 
over  his  own  soul.  His  wife  would  be  upon  him,  or, 
worse  still,  her  brother  Dick,  who  he  knew  would  beat 
him  to  a  mummy  on  the  spot  j  or^  worst  of  all,  the  hus- 


A  SIMPLETOK.  425 

band  of  Rosa  Staines,  who  would  kill  him,  or  fling  him 
into  a  prison.     He  must  make  a  push. 

In  this  emergency  he  used  his  ally,  Mr.  Lusignan ;  he 
told  him  Mrs.  Staines  had  promised  to  marry  him,  but 
at  some  distant  date.  This  would  not  do ;  he  must  look 
after  his  enormous  interests  in  the  colony,  and  he  was  so 
much  in  love  he  could  not  leave  her. 

The  old  gentleman  was  desperately  fond  of  Falcon,  and 
bent  on  the  match,  and  he  actually  consented  to  give  his 
daughter  what  Falcon  called  a  little  push. 

The  little  push  was  a  very  great  one,  I  think. 

It  consisted  in  directing  the  clergyman  to  call  in 
church  the  banns  of  marriage  between  Keginald  Falcon 
and  Rosa  Staines. 

They  were  both  in  church  together  when  this  Avas 
done.  Rosa  all  but  screamed,  and  then  turned  red  as 
fire  and  white  as  a  ghost,  by  turns.  She  never  stood  up 
again  all  the  service ;  and  in  going  home  refused  Falcon's 
arm,  and  walked  swiftly  home  by  herself.  Kot  that  she 
had  the  slightest  intention  of  passing  this  monstrous 
thing  by  in  silence.  On  the  contrary,  her  wrath  was 
boiling  over,  and  so  hot  that  she  knew  she  should  make 
a  scene  in  the  street  if  she  said  a  word  there. 

Once  inside  the  house  she  turned  on  Falcon,  with  a 
white  cheek  and  a  flashing  eye,  and  said,  "Follow  me,  sir, 
if  you  please."  She  led  the  way  to  her  father's  study. 
"Papa,"  said  she,  "I  throw  myself  on  your  protection. 
Mr.  Falcon  has  affronted  me." 

"  Oh,  Rosa !  "  cried  Falcon,  affecting  utter  dismay. 

"  Publicly  —  publicly :  he  has  had  the  banns  of  mar- 
riage cried  in  the  church,  without  my  permission." 

"  Don't  raise  your  voice  so  loud,  child.  All  the  house 
will  hear  you." 

"  I  choose  all  the  house  to  hear  me.  I  will  not  endure 
it.     I  will  never  marry  you  now —  never !  " 


426  A  SIMPLETON. 

*'  Kosa,  my  child,"  said  Liisignan,  "you  need  not  scold 
poor  Falcon,  for  I  am  tlie  culprit.  It  was  I  who  ordered 
the  banns  to  be  cried." 

"  Oh !  papa,  you  had  no  right  to  do  such  a  thing  as 
that." 

"I  think  I  had.  I  exercised  parental  authority  for 
once,  and  for  your  good,  and  for  the  good  of  a  true  and 
faithful  lover  of  yours,  whom  you  jilted  once,  and  now 
you  trifle  with  his  affection  and  his  interests.  He  loves 
you  too  well  to  leave  you  ;  yet  you  know  his  vast  estates 
and  interests  require  supervision." 

"  That  for  his  vast  estates  ! "  said  Eosa  contemptu- 
ovisly.  "1  am  not  to  be  driven  to  the  altar  like  this, 
when  my  heart  is  in  the  grave.  Don't  you  do  it  again, 
papa,  or  I'll  get  up  and  forbid  the  banns ;  affront  for 
affront." 

"I  should  like  to  see  that,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
dryly. 

Rosa  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  swept  out  of  the  room, 
with  burning  cheeks  and  glittering  eyes,  and  was  not 
seen  all  day,  would  not  dine  with  them,  in  spite  of  three 
humble,  deprecating  notes  Falcon  sent  her. 

"  Let  the  spiteful  cat  alone,"  said  old  Lusignan.  "  You 
and  I  will  dine  together  in  peace  and  quiet." 

It  was  a  dull  dinner;  but  Falcon  took  advantage  of 
the  opportunity,  imj)regnated  the  father  with  his  views, 
and  got  him  to  promise  to  have  the  banns  cried  next 
Sunday.     He  consented. 

Rosa  learned  next  Sunday  morning  that  this  was  to  be 
done,  and  her  courage  failed  her.  She  did  not  go  to 
church  at  all. 

She  cried  a  great  deal,  and  submitted  to  violence,  as 
your  true  women  are  too  apt  to  do.  They  had  compro- 
mised her,  and  so  conquered  her.  The  permanent 
feelings  of  gratitude  and  esteem  caused  a  reaction  after 


A  SIIVIPLETON.  427 

her  passion,  and  slie  gave  up  open  resistance  as  hope- 
less. 

Falcon  renewed  his  visits,  and  was  received  with  the 
mere  sullen  languor  of  a  woman  who  has  given  in. 

The  banns  were  cried  a  third  time. 

Then  the  patient  Kosa  bought  laudanum  enough  to 
reunite  her  to  her  Christopher,  in  spite  of  them  all; 
and  having  provided  herself  with  this  resource,  became 
more  cheerful,  and  even  kind  and  caressing. 

She  declined  to  name  the  day  at  present,  and  that  was 
awkward.  -  Nevertheless  the  consj)irators  felt  sure  they 
should  tire  her  out  into  doing  that,  before  long ;  for  they 
saw  their  way  clear,  and  she  was  perplexed  in  the 
extreme. 

In  her  perplexity,  she  used  to  talk  to  a  certain  beauti- 
ful star  she  called  her  Christopher.  She  loved  to  fancy 
he  was  now  an  inliabitant  of  that  bright  star ;  and  often 
on  a  clear  night  she  would  look  up,  and  beg  for  guidance 
from  this  star.  This  I  consider  foolish :  but  then  I  am 
old  and  sceptical ;  she  was  still  young  and  innocent,  and 
sorely  puzzled  to  know  her  husband's  real  will. 

I  don't  suppose  the  star  had  anything  to  do  with  it, 
except  as  a  focus  of  her  thoughts ;  but  one  fine  night, 
after  a  long  inspection  of  Christopher's  star,  she  dreamed 
a  dream.  She  thought  that  a  lovely  wedding-dress  hung 
over  a  chair,  that  a  crown  of  diamonds  as  large  as  almonds 
sparkled  ready  for  her  on  the  dressing-table,  and  she 
was  undoing  her  black  gown,  and  about  to  take  it  off, 
Avhen  suddenly  the  diamonds  began  to  pale,  and  the 
white  satin  dress  to  melt  away,  and  in  its  place  there 
rose  a  pale  face  and  a  long  beard,  and  Christopher  Staines 
stood  before  her,  and  said  quietly,  "  Is  this  how  you 
keep  your  vow  ?  "  Then  he  sank  slowly,  and  the  white 
dress  was  black,  and  the  diamonds  were  jet ;  and  she 
awoke,  with  his  gentle  words  of  remonstrance  and  his 
very  tones  ringing  in  her  ear. 


428  A  SIMPLETON. 

Tliis  dream,  co-operating  with  her  previous  agitation 
and  misgivings,  sliook  her  very  much  ;  she  did  not  come 
down-stairs  till  near  dinner-time ;  and  both  her  father 
and  Falcon,  who  came  as  a  matter  of  course  to  spend 
his  Sunday,  were  struck  with  her  appearance.  She  was 
pale,  gloomy,  morose,  and  had  an  air  of  desperation 
about  her. 

Falcon  would  not  see  it ;  he  knew  that  it  is  safest  to 
let  her  sex  alone  when  they  look  like  that ;  and  then  the 
storm  sometimes  subsides  of  itself. 

After  dinner,  Rosa  retired  early ;  and  soon  she  was 
heard  walking  rapidly  up  and  down  the  dressing-room. 

This  was  quite  unusual,  and  made  a  noise. 

Papa  Lusignan  thought  it  inconsiderate ;  and  after  a 
while,  remarking  gently  that  he  was  not  particularly 
fond  of  sound,  he  proposed  they  should  smoke  the  pipe 
of  peace  on  the  lawn. 

They  did  so ;  but  after  a  while,  finding  that  Falcon 
was  not  smoking,  he  said,  "Don't  let  me  detain  you. 
Rosa  is  alone." 

Falcon  took  the  hint,  and  went  to  the  drawing-room. 
Rosa  met  him  on  the  stairs,  with  a  scarf  over  her  shoul- 
ders. "  I  must  speak  to  papa,"  said  she.  '^  Where  is 
he?" 

"  He  is  on  the  lawn,  dear  Rosa,"  said  Falcon,  in  his 
most  dulcet  tones.  He  was  sure  of  his  ally,  and  very 
glad  to  use  him  as  a  buffer  to  receive  the  first  shock. 

So  he  went  into  the  draAving-room,  where  all  the  lights 
were  burning,  and  quietly  took  up  a  book.  But  he  did 
not  read  a  line ;  he  was  too  occupied  in  trying  to  read 
his  own  future. 

The  mean  villain,  who  is  incapable  of  remorse,  is,  of  all 
men,  most  capable  of  fear.  His  villany  had,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, reached  the  goal;  for  he  felt  sure  that  all 
Rosa's  struggles  would,  sooner  or  later,  succumb  to  her 


A   SIMPLETON.  429 

sense  of  gratitude  and  his  strong  will  and  patient  tem- 
per. But  when  the  victory  was  won,  what  a  life !  He 
must  fly  with  her  to  some  foreign  country,  pursued  from 
pillar  to  post  by  an  enraged  husband,  and  by  the  offended 
law.  And  if  he  escaped  the  vindictive  foe  a  year  or  two, 
how  could  he  escape  that  other  enemy  he  kneAV,  and 
dreaded  —  poverty  ?  He  foresaw  he  should  come  to 
hate  the  woman  he  was  about  to  wrong,  and  she  would 
instantly  revenge  herself,  by  making  him  an  exile  and, 
soon  or  late,  a  prisoner,  or  a  pauper. 

While  these  misgivings  battled  with  his  base  but 
ardent  passion,  strange  things  were  going  on  out  of 
doors  —  but  they  will  be  best  related  in  another  sequence 
of  events,  to  which  indeed  they  fairly  belong. 


430  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Staines  and  Mrs.  Falcon  landed  at  Plymouth,  and 
went  up  to  town  by  tlie  same  train.  They  parted  in 
London,  Staines  to  go  down  to  Gravesend,  Mrs.  Falcon 
to  visit  her  husband's  old  haunts,  and  see  if  she  could 
find  him. 

She  did  not  find  him;  but  she  heard  of  him,  and 
learned  that  he  always  went  down  to  Gravesend  from 
Saturday  till  Monday. 

Notwithstanding  all  she  had  said  to  Staines,  the  actual 
information  startled  her,  and  gave  her  a  turn.  She  was 
obliged  to  sit  down,  for  her  knees  seemed  to  give  way. 
It  was  but  a  momentary  weakness.  She  was  now  a  wife 
and  a  mother,  and  had  her  rights.  She  said  to  herself, 
"My  rogue  has  turned  that  poor  woman's  head  long 
before  this,  no  doubt.  But  I  shall  go  down  and  just 
bring  him  away  by  the  ear." 

For  once  her  bitter  indignation  overpowered  every 
other  sentiment,  and  she  lost  no  time,  but  late  as  it  Avas 
went  down  to  Gravesend,  ordered  a  private  sitting-room 
and  bedroom  for  the  night,  and  took  a  fly  to  Kent  Villa. 

But  Christopher  Staines  had  the  start  of  her.  He  had 
already  gone  down  to  Gravesend  with  his  carpet-bag, 
left  it  at  the  inn,  and  walked  to  Kent  Villa  that  lovely 
summer  night,  the  happiest  husband  in  England. 

His  heart  had  never  for  one  instant  been  disturbed  by 
Mrs.  Falcon's  monstrou.s  suspicion ;  he  looked  on  her  as 
a  monomaniac ;  a  sensible  woman  insane  on  one  point, 
her  husband. 

When  he  reached  the  villa,  however,  he  thought   it 


A   SIMPLETON.  431 

prudent  to  make  sure  that  Falcon  had  come  to  Eng- 
land at  all,  and  discharged  his  commission.  He  would 
not  run  the  risk,  small  as  he  thought  it,  of  po\incing  un- 
expected on  his  Rosa,  being  taken  for  a  ghost,  and  terri- 
fying her,  or  exciting  her  to  madness. 

Now  the  premises  of  Kent  Villa  were  admirably 
adapted  to  what  they  call  in  war  a  reconnoissance.  Tlie 
lawn  was  studded  with  laurestinas  and  other  shrubs  that 
had  grown  magnificently  in  that  Kentish  air. 

Staines  had  no  sooner  set  his  foot  on  the  lawn,  than 
he  heard  voices ;  he  crept  towards  them  from  bush  to 
bush ;  and  standing  in  impenetrable  shade,  he  saw  in 
the  clear  moonlight  two  figures — Mr.  Lusignan  and 
Reginald  Falcon. 

These  two  dropped  out  only  a  word  or  two  at  inter- 
vals ;  but  what  they  did  say  struck  Staines  as  odd.  For 
one  thing,  Lusignan  remarked,  "  I  suppose  you  will  want 
to  go  back  to  the  Cape.  Such  enormous  estates  as  yours 
will  want  looking  after." 

"  Enormous  estates  !  "  said  Staines  to  himself.  "  Then 
they  must  have  grown  very  fast  in  a  few  months." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Falcon ;  ''  but  I  think  of  showing  her 
a  little  of  Europe  first." 

Staines  thought  this  still  more  mysterious ;  he  waited 
to  hear  more,  but  the  succeeding  remarks  were  of  an 
ordinary  kind. 

He  noticed,  however,  that  Falcon  spoke  of  his  wife 
by  her  Christian  name,  and  that  neither  party  mentioned 
Christopher  Staines.  He  seemed  quite  out  of  their  little 
world. 

He  began  to  feel  a  strange  chill  creep  down  him. 

Presently  Falcon  went  off  to  join  Rosa ;  and  Staines 
thought  it  was  quite  time  to  ask  the  old  gentleman 
whether  Falcon  had  executed  his  commission,  or  not. 

He  was  only  hesitating  how  to  do  it,  not  liking  to 


432  A   SIMPLETON. 

pounce  in  the  dark  on  a  man  who  abhorred  everything 
like  excitement,  when  Kosa  herself  came  flying  out  in 
great  agitation. 

Oh !  the  thrill  he  felt  at  the  sight  of  her !  With  all 
his  self-possession,  he  would  have  sprung  forward  and 
taken  her  in  his  arms  with  a  mighty  cry  of  love,  if  she 
had  not  immediately  spoken  words  that  rooted  him  to 
the  spot  with  horror.  But  she  came  with  the  words  in 
her  very  mouth ;  "  Papa,  I  am  come  to  tell  you  I  cannot, 
and  will  not,  marry  Mr.  Falcon." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  my  dear." 

"  Never !  I'll  die  sooner.  Not  that  you  will  care  for 
that.  I  tell  you  I  saw  my  Christopher  last  night  —  in  a 
dream.  He  had  a  beard ;  but  I  saw  him,  oh,  so  plain ; 
and  he  said,  *  Is  this  the  way  you  keep  your  promise  ? ' 
That  is  enough  for  me.  I  have  prayed,  again  and  again, 
to  his  star,  for  light.  I  am  so  perplexed  and  harassed 
by  you  all,  and  you  make  me  believe  what  you  like. 
Well,  I  have  had  a  revelation.  It  is  not  my  poor  lost 
darling's  wish  I  should  wed  again.  I  don't  believe  Mr. 
Falcon  any  more.  I  hear  nothing  but  lies  by  day.  The 
truth  comes  to  my  bedside  at  night.  I  will  not  marry 
this  man." 

"  Consider,  Kosa,  your  credit  is  pledged.  You  must 
not  be  always  jilting  him  heartlessly.  Dreams !  non- 
sense. There  —  I  love  peace.  It  is  no  use  your  storm- 
ing at  me ;  rave  to  the  moon  and  the  stars,  if  you  like, 
and  when  you  have  done,  do  pray  come  in,  and  behave 
like  a  rational  woman,  who  has  pledged  her  faith  to  an 
honorable  man,  and  a  man  of  vast  estates  —  a  man  that 
nursed  your  husband  in  his  last  illness,  found  your  child, 
at  a  great  expense,  when  you  had  lost  him,  and  merits 
eternal  gratitude,  not  eternal  jilting.  I  have  no  patience 
with  you." 

The  old  gentleman  retired  in  high  dudgeon. 


A  SIIMPLETON.  433 

Staines  stood  in  the  black  shade  of  his  cedar-tree, 
rooted  to  the  ground  by  this  revelation  of  male  villany 
and  female  credulity. 

He  did  not  know  what  on  earth  to  do.  He  wanted  to 
kill  Falcon,  but  not  to  terrify  his  own  wife  to  death.  It 
was  now  too  clear  she  thought  he  was  dead. 

Rosa  watched  her  father's  retiring  figure  out  of  sight. 
"  Very  well,"  said  she,  clenching  her  teeth ;  then  sud- 
denly she  turned,  and  looked  up  to  heaven  "Do  you 
hear  ?  "  said  she,  "  my  Christie's  star  ?  I  am  a  poor  per- 
plexed creature,  I  asked  you  for  a  sign,  and  that  very 
night  I  saAV  him  in  a  dream.  Why  should  I  marry  out 
of  gratitude  ?  Why  should  I  marry  one  man,  when  I 
love  another  ?  What  does  it  matter  his  being  dead  ? 
I  love  him  too  well  to  be  wife  to  any  living  man.  They 
persuade  me,  they  coax  me,  they  pull  me,  they  push  me. 
I  see  they  will  make  me.  But  I  will  outwit  them.  See 
—  see  ! "  and  she  held  up  a  little  phial  in  the  moonlight. 
"  This  shall  cut  the  knot  for  me ;  this  shall  keep  me  true 
to  my  Christie,  and  save  me  from  breaking  promises  I 
ought  never  to  have  made.  This  shall  unite  me  once 
more  with  him  I  killed,  and  loved," 

She  meant  she  would  kill  herself  the  night  before  the 
wedding,  which  perhaps  she  would  not,  and  perhaps  she 
would.  Who  can  tell  ?  The  weak  are  violent.  But  Chris- 
topher, seeing  the  poison  so  near  her  lips,  was  perplexed, 
took  two  strides,  wrenched  it  out  of  her  hand,  with  a  snarl 
of  rage,  and  instantly  plunged  into  the  shade  again. 

Rosa  uttered  a  shriek,  and  flew  into  the  house. 

The  farther  she  got,  the  more  terrified  she  became,  and 
soon  Christopher  heard  her  screaming  in  the  drawing- 
room  in  an  alarming  way.  They  were  like  the  screams 
of  the  insane. 

He  got  terribly  anxious,  and  followed  her.    All  the 
doors  were  open. 
28 


434  A  SIMPLETON. 

As  he  went  up-stairs,  he  heard  her  cry,  "  His  ghost ! 
his  ghost !  I  have  seen  his  ghost !  No,  no.  I  feel  his 
hand  upon  my  arm  now.  A  beard !  and  so  he  had  in  the 
dream !  He  is  alive.  My  darling  is  alive.  You  have 
deceived  me.  You  are  an  impostor  —  a  villain.  Out  of 
the  house  this  moment,  or  he  shall  kill  you." 

"  Are  you  mad  ? "  cried  Falcon.  ''  How  can  he  be 
alive,  when  I  saw  him  dead  ?  " 

This  was  too  much.  Staines  gave  the  door  a  blow 
with  his  arm,  and  strode  into  the  apartment,  looking 
white  and  tremendous. 

Falcon  saw  death  in  his  face ;  gave  a  shriek,  drew  his 
revolver,  and  fired  at  him  with  as  little  aim  as  he  had  at 
the  lioness;  then  made  for  the  open  window.  Staines 
seized  a  chair,  followed  him,  and  hurled  it  at  him ;  and 
the  chair  and  the  man  went  through  the  window  together, 
and  then  there  was  a  strange  thud  heard  outside. 

Rosa  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  swooned  away. 

Staines  laid  his  wife  flat  on  the  floor,  got  the  women 
about  her,  and  at  last  she  began  to  give  the  usual  signs 
of  returning  life. 

Staines  said  to  the  oldest  woman  there,  "  If  she  sees 
me,  she  will  go  off  again.  Carry  her  to  her  room ;  and 
tell  her,  by  degrees,  that  I  am  alive." 

All  this  time  Papa  Lusignan  had  sat  trembling  and 
whimpering  in  a  chair,  moaning,  "This  is  a  painful 
scene  —  very  painful."  But  at  last  an  idea  struck  him 
—  "  Why,  you  have  robbed  the  office  ! " 

Scarcely  was  Mrs.  Staines  out  of  the  room,  when  a  fly 
drove  up,  and  this  was  immediately  followed  by  violent 
and  continuous  screaming  close  under  the  window, 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  sighed  Papa  Lusignan. 

They  ran  down,  and  found  Falcon  impaled  at  full 
length  on  the  spikes  of  the  villa,  and  Phoebe  screaming 
over  him,  and  trying  in  vain  to  lift  him  off  them.     He 


A  SIMPLETON.  435 

had  struggled  a  little,  in  silent  terror,  but  had  then 
fainted  from  fear  and  loss  of  blood,  and  lying  rather 
inside  the  rails,  which  were  high,  he  could  not  be  extri- 
cated from  the  outside. 

As  soon  as  his  miserable  condition  was  discovered,  the 
servants  ran  down  into  the  kitchen,  and  so  up  to  the 
rails  by  the  area  steps.  These  rails  had  caught  him ; 
one  had  gone  clean  through  his  arm,  the  other  had  pene- 
trated the  fleshy  part  of  the  thigh,  and  a  third  pierced 
his  ear. 

They  got  him  off ;  but  he  was  insensible,  and  the  place 
drenched  with  his  blood. 

Phoebe  clutched  Staines  by  the  arm.  "  Let  me  know 
the  worst,"  said  she.     "  Is  he  dead  ?  " 

Staines  examined  him,  and  said  "  No." 

"  Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

"  I  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Who  can,  if  you  cannot  ?  Oh,  have  mercy  on 
me ! "  and  she  went  on  her  knees  to  him,  and  put  her 
forehead  on  his  knees. 

He  was  touched  by  her  simple  faith ;  and  the  noble 
traditions  of  his  profession  sided  with  his  gratitude  to 
this  injured  woman.  " My  poor  friend,"  said  he,  "I  will 
do  my  best,  for  your  sake." 

He  took  immediate  steps  for  stanching  the  blood ;  and 
the  fly  carried  Phoebe  and  her  villain  to  the  inn  at 
Gravesend. 

Falcon  came  to  on  the  road ;  but  finding  himself  alone 
with  Phoebe,  shammed  unconsciousness  of  everything 
but  pain. 

Staines,  being  thoroughly  enraged  with  Rosa,  yet 
remembering  his  solemn  vow  never  to  abuse  her  again, 
saw  her  father,  and  told  him  to  tell  her  he  should  think 
over  her  conduct  quietly,  not  wishing  to  be  harder  upon 
her  than  she  deserved. 


436  A  SIMPLETON. 

Rosa,  who  had  been  screaming,  and  crying  for  joy, 
ever  since  she  came  to  her  senses,  was  not  so  much 
afflicted  at  this  message  as  one  might  have  expected. 
He  was  alive,  and  all  things  else  were  trifles. 

Nevertheless,  when  day  after  day  went  by,  and  not 
even  a  line  from  Christopher,  she  began  to  fear  he  would 
cast  her  off  entirely ;  the  more  so  as  she  heard  he  was 
now  and  then  at  Gravesend  to  visit  Mrs.  Falcon  at  the 
inn. 

While  matters  were  thus,  Uncle  Philip  burst  on  her 
like  a  bomb.  "  He  is  alive !  he  is  alive  !  he  is  alive  ! " 
And  they  had  a  cuddle  over  it. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Philip  !     Have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Seen  him  ?  Yes.  He  caught  me  on  the  hop,  just  as 
I  came  in  from  Italy.     I  took  him  for  a  ghost." 

"  Oh,  weren't  you  frightened  ?" 

"Not  a  bit.  I  don't  mind  ghosts.  I'd  have  half  a 
dozen  to  dinner  every  day,  if  I  might  choose  'em.  I 
couldn't  stand  stupid  ones.  But  I  say,  his  temper  isn't 
improved  by  all  this  dying :  he  is  in  an  awful  rage  with 
you  ;  and  what  for  ?  " 

"  0  uncle !  what  for  ?  Because  I'm  the  vilest  of 
women ! " 

"  Vilest  of  fiddlesticks !  It's  his  fault,  not  yours. 
Shouldn't  have  died.  It's  always  a  dangerous  experi- 
ment." 

"/shall  die  if  he  will  not  forgive  me.  He  keeps  away 
from  me  and  from  his  child." 

"  I'll  tell  you.  He  heard,  in  Gravesend,  your  banns 
had  been  cried:  that  has  moved  the  peevish  fellow's 
bile." 

"  It  was  done  without  my  consent.  Papa  will  tell  you 
so ;  and,  O  uncle,  if  you  knew  the  arts,  the  forged  letter 
in  my  darling's  hand,  the  way  he  wrought  on  me  !  0 
villain !  villain !     Uncle,  forgive  your  poor  silly  niece, 


A  SIMPLETON.  437 

that  the  world  is  too  wicked  and  too  clever  for  her  to 
live  in." 

"Because  you  are  too  good  and  innocent,"  said  Uncle 
Philip.  "There,  don't  you  be  down-hearted.  I'll  soon 
bring  you  two  together  again  —  a  couple  of  ninnies. 
I'll  tell  you  what  is  the  first  thing  :  you  must  come  and 
live  with  me.  Come  at  once,  bag  and  baggage.  He 
won't  show  here,  the  sulky  brute." 

Philip  Staines  had  a  large  house  in  Cavendish  Square, 
a  crusty  old  patient,  like  himself,  had  left  him.  It  was 
his  humor  to  live  in  a  corner  of  this  mansion,  though 
the  whole  was  capitally  furnished  by  his  judicious  pur- 
chases at  auctions. 

He  gave  Eosa  and  her  boy  and  his  nurse  the  entire 
first  floor,  and  told  her  she  was  there  for  life.  "Look 
here,"  said  he,  "this  last  affair  has  opened  my  eyes. 
Such  women  as  you  are  the  sweeteners  of  existence. 
You  leave  my  roof  no  more.  Your  husband  will  make 
the  same  discovery.  Let  him  run  about,  and  be  miserable 
a  bit.     He  will  have  to  come  to  book." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  My  Christopher  will  never  say  a  harsh  word  to  me. 
All  the  worse  for  me.  He  will  quietly  abandon  a 
creature  so  inferior  to  him." 

"Stuff!" 

Now,  she  was  always  running  to  the  window,  in  hope 
that  Christopher  would  call  on  his  uncle,  and  that  she 
might  see  him  ;  and  one  day  she  gave  a  scream  so  elo- 
quent, Philip  knew  what  it  meant.  "  Get  you  behind 
that  screen,  you  and  your  boy,"  said  he,  "  and  be  as  still 
as  mice.  Stop  !  give  me  that  letter  the  scoundrel  forged, 
and  the  ring." 

This  was  hardly  done,  and  Kosa  out  of  sight,  and 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  when  Christopher  was 
announced.  Philip  received  him  very  affectionately, 
but  wasted  no  time. 


438  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Been  to  Kent  Villa  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  grim  reply. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  have  sworn  never  to  say  an  angry  word  to 
her  again ;  and,  if  I  was  to  go  there,  I  should  say  a  good 
many  angry  ones.  Oh,  when  I  think  that  her  folly  drove 
me  to  sea,  to  do  my  best  for  her,  and  that  I  was  nearer 
death  for  that  woman  than  ever  man  was,  and  lost  my 
reason  for  her,  and  went  through  toil  and  privations, 
hunger,  exile,  mainly  for  her,  and  then  to  find  the  banns 
cried  in  open  church,  with  that  scoundrel !  —  say  no  more, 
uncle.  I  shall  never  reproach  her,  and  never  forgive 
her." 

•'  She  was  deceived." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that ;  but  nobody  has  a  right  to  be  so 
great  a  fool  as  all  that." 

"  It  was  not  her  folly,  but  her  innocence,  that  was 
imposed  on.  You  a  philosopher,  and  not  know  that 
wisdom  itself  is  sometimes  imposed  on,  and  deceived  by 
cunning  folly  !     Have  you  forgotten  your  Milton  ?  — 

"  *  At  Wisdom's  gate,  Suspicion  sleeps, 
And  deems  no  ill  where  no  ill  seems.' 

Come,  come  !  are  are  sure  you  are  not  a  little  to  blame  ? 
Did  you  write  home  the  moment  you  found  you  were 
not  dead  ?  " 

Christopher  colored  high. 

"Evidently  not,"  said  the  keen  old  man.  "Ah,  my 
fine  fellow !  have  I  found  the  flaw  in  your  own  armor  ?  " 

"  I  did  wrong,  but  it  was  for  her.  I  sinned  for  her. 
I  could  not  bear  her  to  be  without  money,  and  I  knew 
the  insurance  —  I  sinned  for  her.  She  has  sinned  against 
me." 

"  And  she  had  much  better  have  sinned  against  God, 
hadn't   she  ?     He   is   more   forgiving   than  we   perfect 


A   SIMPLETON.  439 

creatures  that  cheat  insurance  companies.  And  so,  my 
fine  fellow,  you  hid  the  truth  from  her  for  two  or  three 
months." 

No  answer. 

"  Strike  off  those  two  or  three  months ;  would  the 
banns  have  ever  been  cried  ?  " 

"  Well,  uncle,"  said  Christopher,  hard  pressed,  "  I  am 
glad  she  has  got  a  champion ;  and  I  hope  you  will  always 
keep  your  eye  on  her." 

"  I  mean  to." 

"  Good-morning." 

"  No ;  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  have  something  else  to 
say,  not  so  provoking.  Do  you  know  the  arts  by  which 
she  was  made  to  believe  you  wished  her  to  marry  again  ?  " 

"  I  wished  her  to  marry  again  !    Are  you  mad,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Whose  handwriting  is  on  this  envelope  ?  " 

"  Mine,  to  be  sure." 

"Now,  read  the  letter." 

Christopher  read  the  forged  letter. 

"  Oh,  monstrous  !  " 

'''  This  was  given  her  with  your  ruby  ring,  and  a  tale 
so  artful  that  nothing  we  read  about  the  devil  comes 
near  it.  This  was  what  did  it.  The  Earl  of  Tadcaster 
brought  her  title,  and  wealth,  and  love." 

"  What,  he  too  !  The  little  cub  I  saved,  and  lost  my- 
self for  —  blank  him  !  blank  him  ! " 

"  Why,  you  stupid  ninny  !  you  forget  you  were  dead ; 
and  he  could  not  help  loving  her.  How  could  he  ? 
Well,  but  you  see  she  refused  him.  And  why  ?  because 
he  came  without  a  forged  letter  from  you.  Do  you  doubt 
her  love  for  you  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  do.    She  never  loved  me  as  I  loved  her." 

"Christopher,  don't  you  say  that  before  me,  or  you 
and  I  shall  quarrel.  Poor  girl !  she  lay,  in  my  sight,  as 
near  death  for  you  as  you  were  for  her.  I'll  show  you 
something." 


440  A  SIMPLETON. 

He  went  to  a  cabinet,  and  took  out  a  silver  paper ;  he 
unpinned  it,  and  laid  Rosa's  beautiful  black  hair  upon 
her  husband's  knees.  "  Look  at  that,  you  hard-liearted 
brute  ! "  he  roared  to  Christopher,  who  sat,  anything  but 
hard-hearted,  his  eyes  filling  fast,  at  the  sad  proof  of 
his  wife's  love  and  suffering. 

Rosa  could  bear  no  more.  She  came  out  with  her  boy 
in  her  hand.  "  0  uncle,  do  not  speak  harshly  to  him,  or 
you  will  kill  me  quite  ! " 

She  came  across  the  room,  a  picture  of  timidity  and 
penitence,  with  her  whole  eloquent  body  bent  forward 
at  an  angle.  She  kneeled  at  his  knees,  with  streaming 
eyes,  and  held  her  boy  up  to  him  :  "  Plead  for  your  poor 
mother,  my  darling.  She  mourns  her  fault,  and  will 
never  excuse  it." 

The  cause  was  soon  decided.  All  Philip's  logic  was 
nothing,  compared  with  mighty  nature.  Christopher 
gave  one  great  sob,  and  took  his  darling  to  his  heart, 
without  one  word ;  and  he  and  Rosa  clung  together,  and 
cried  over  each  other.  Philip  slipped  out  of  the  room, 
and  left  the  restored  ones  together. 

I  have  something  more  to  say  about  my  hero  and 
heroine,  but  must  first  deal  with  other  characters,  not 
wholly  uninteresting  to  the  reader,  I  hope. 

Dr.  Staines  directed  Phoebe  Falcon  how  to  treat  her 
husband.  No  medicine,  no  stimulants ;  very  wholesome 
food,  in  moderation,  and  the  temperature  of  the  body 
regulated  by  tepid  water.  Under  these  instructions,  the 
injured  but  still  devoted  wife  was  the  real  healer.  He 
pulled  through,  but  was  lame  for  life,  and  ridiculously 
lame,  for  he  went  with  a  spring  halt,  —  a  sort  of  hop-and- 
go-one  that  made  the  girls  laugh,  and  vexed  Adonis. 

Phoebe  found  the  diamonds,  and  offered  them  all  to 
Staines,  in  expiation  of  his  villany.  "  See/'  she  said, 
"  he  has  only  spent  one." 


A  SIMPLETON.  441 

Staines  said  he  was  glad  of  it,  for  her  sake,  for  he 
must  be  just  to  his  own  family.  He  sold  them  for  three 
thousand  two  hundred  pounds  ;  but  for  the  big  diamond 
he  got  twelve  thousand  pounds,  and  I  believe  it  was 
worth  double  the  money. 

Counting  the  two  sums,  and  deducting  six  hundred 
for  the  stone  Mr.  Falcon  had  embezzled,  he  gave  her  over 
seven  thousand  pounds. 

She  stared  at  him,  and  changed  color  at  so  large  a  sum. 
"  But  I  have  no  claim  on  that,  sir." 

"  That  is  a  good  joke,"  said  he.  "Why,  you  and  I  are 
partners  in  the  whole  thing  —  you  and  I  and  Dick.  Was 
it  not  with  his  horse  and  rifle  I  bought  the  big  diamond  ? 
Poor  dear,  honest,  manly  Dick  !  No,  the  money  is 
honestly  yours,  Mrs.  Falcon ;  but  don't  tiiist  a  penny  to 
your  husband." 

"  He  will  never  see  it,  sir.  I  shall  take  him  back,  and 
give  him  all  his  heart  can  ask  for,  with  this ;  but  he  will 
be  little  more  than  a  servant  in  the  house  now,  as  long 
as  Dick  is  single ;  I  know  that ;  "  and  she  could  still  cry 
at  the  humiliation  of  her  villain. 

Staines  made  her  promise  to  write  to  him  ;  and  she 
did  write  him  a  sweet,  womanly  letter,  to  say  that  they 
were  making  an  enormous  fortune,  and  hoped  to  end 
their  days  in  England.  Dick  sent  his  kind  love  and 
thanks. 

I  will  add,  what  she  only  said  by  implication,  that  she 
was  happy  after  all.  She  still  contrived  to  love  the 
thing  she  could  not  respect.  Once,  when  an  officious 
friend  pitied  her  for  her  husband's  lameness,  she  said,. 
"  Find  me  a  face  like  his.  The  lamer  the  better  j  he 
can't  run  after  the  girls,  like  some^ 

Dr.  Staines  called  on  Lady  Cicely  Treherne  ;  the  foot- 
man stared.     He  left  his  card. 

A  week  afterwards,  she  called  on  him.     She  had  a 


442  A  SIMPLETON. 

pink  tinge  in  her  cheeks,  a  general  animation,  and  her 
face  full  of  brightness  and  archness. 

"  Bless  me  ! "  said  he  bluntly,  "  is  this  you  ?  How 
you  are  improved ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  am  come  to  thank  you  for 
your  pwescwiption :  I  followed  it  to  the  lettaa." 

"  Woe  is  me !     I  have  forgotten  it." 

"  You  diwected  me  to  mawwy  a  nice  man." 

"  Never  :  I  hate  a  nice  man." 

"  No,  no  —  an  Iwishman :  and  I  have  done  it." 

"  Good  gracious !  you  don't  mean  that !  I  must  be 
more  cautious  in  my  prescriptions.  After  all,  it  seems 
to  agree." 

"  Admiwably." 

"  He  loves  you  ?  " 

"To  distwaction." 

"  He  amuses  you  ?  " 

"  Pwodigiously.     Come  and  see." 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Staines  live  with  Uncle  Philip.  The 
insurance  money  is  returned,  but  the  diamond  money 
makes  them  very  easy.  Staines  follows  his  profession 
now  under  great  advantages  :  a  noble  house,  rent  free ; 
the  curiosity  that  attaches  to  a  man  who  has  been  canted 
out  of  a  ship  in  mid-ocean,  and  lives  to  tell  it ;  and  then 
Lord  Tadcaster,  married  into  another  noble  house,  swears 
by  him,  and  talks  of  him  ;  so  does  Lady  Cicely  Munster, 
late  Treherne ;  and  when  such  friends  as  these  are  warm, 
it  makes  a  physician  the  centre  of  an  important  clien- 
tele; but  his  best  friend  of  all  is  his  unflagging  indus- 
try, and  his  truly  wonderful  diagnosis,  which  resembles 
divination.  He  has  the  ball  at  his  feet,  and  above  all, 
that  without  which  worldly  success  soon  palls,  a  happy 
home,  a  fireside  warm  with  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Staines  is  an  admiring,  sympathizing  wife,  and 


A  SIMPLETON.  443 

an  admirable  housekeeper.  She  still  utters  inadverten- 
cies now  and  then,  commits  new  errors  at  odd  times,  but 
never  repeats  them  when  exposed.  Observing  which 
docility.  Uncle  Philip  has  been  heard  to  express  a  fear 
that,  in  twenty  years,  she  will  be  the  wisest  woman  in 
England.  "  But,  thank  heaven ! "  he  adds,  "  I  shall  be 
gone  before  that." 

Her  conduct  and  conversation  afford  this  cynic  con- 
stant food  for  observation  ;  and  he  has  delivered  himself 
oracularly  at  various  stages  of  the  study  :  but  I  cannot 
say  that  his  observations,  taken  as  a  whole,  present  that 
consistency  which  entitles  them  to  be  regarded  as  a  body 
of  philosophy.  Examples :  In  the  second  month  after 
Mrs.  Staines  came  to  live  with  him,  he  delivered  himself 
thus  :  "  My  niece  Rosa  is  an  anomaly.  She  gives  you 
the  impression  she  is  shallow.  Mind  your  eye  :  in  one 
moment  she  will  take  you  out  of  your  depth  or  any 
man's  depth.  She  is  like  those  country  streams  I  used 
to  tish  for  pike  when  I  was  young ;  you  go  along,  seeing 
the  bottom  everywhere  ;  but  presently  you  come  to  a 
corner,  and  it  is  fifteen  deep  all  in  a  moment,  and  souse 
you  go  over  head  and  ears  :  that's  my  niece  Rosa." 

In  six  months  he  had  got  to  this  —  and,  mind  you, 
each  successive  dogma  was  delivered  in  a  loud,  aggressive 
tone,  and  in  sublime  oblivion  of  the  preceding  oracle  — • 
"  My  niece  Rosa  is  the  most  artful  woman.  (You  may 
haw !  haw !  haw !  as  much  as  you  like.  You  have  not 
found  out  her  little  game  —  I  have.)  What  is  the  aim 
of  all  women  ?  To  be  beloved  by  an  unconscionable 
number  of  people.  Well,  she  sets  up  for  a  simpleton, 
and  so  disarms  all  the  brilliant  people,  and  they  love 
her.  Everybody  loves  her.  Just  you  put  her  down  in 
a  room  with  six  clever  women,  and  you  will  see  who  is 
the  favorite.  She  looks  as  shallow  as  a  pond,  and  she 
is  as  deep  as  the  ocean." 


444  A   SIMPLETON. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  he  threw  off  the  mask  alto- 
gether. "  The  great  sweetener  of  a  man's  life,"  said  he, 
''is  'a  simpleton.'  I  shall  not  go  abroad  any  more ;  my 
house  has  become  attractive :  I've  got  a  simpleton. 
When  I  have  a  headache,  her  eyes  fill  with  tender  con- 
cern, and  she  hovers  about  me  and  pesters  me  with 
pillows  :  when  I  am  cross  with  her,  she  is  afraid  I  am 
ill.  When  I  die,  and  leave  her  a  lot  of  money,  she  will 
howl  for  months,  and  say  I  don't  want  his  money :  '  I 
Avaw-waw-waw-waw-want  my  Uncle  Philip,  to  love  me, 
and  scold  me.'  One  day  she  told  me,  with  a  sigh,  I 
hadn't  lectured  her  for  a  month.  '  I  am  afraid  I  have 
offended  you,'  says  she,  '  or  else  worn  you  out,  dear.' 
When  I  am  well,  give  me  a  simpleton,  to  make  me  laugh. 
When  I  am  ill,  give  me  a  simpleton  to  soothe  me  with 
her  innocent  tenderness.  A  simpleton  shall  wipe  the 
dews  of  death,  and  close  my  eyes :  and  when  I  cross 
the  river  of  death,  let  me  be  met  by  a  band  of  the 
heavenly  host,  who  were  all  simpletons  here  on  earth, 
and  too  good  for  such  a  hole,  so  now  they  are  in  heaven, 
and  their  garments  always  white  —  because  there  are  no 
laundresses  there." 

Arrived  at  this  point,  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  will  retire, 
grinning,  to  fresh  pastures,  and  leave  this  champion  of 
"  a  Simpleton,"  to  thunder  paradoxes  in  a  desert. 


WHITE    LIES, 


WHITE    LIES. 


CHAPTER   I. 


Towards  the  close  of  the  last  century  the  Baron  de 
Beaurepaire  lived  in  the  chateau  of  that  name  in  Brit- 
tany. His  family  was  of  prodigious  antiquity ;  seven 
successive  barons  had  already  flourished  on  this  spot 
when  a  younger  son  of  the  house  accompanied  his  neigh- 
bor the  Duke  of  Normandy  in  his  descent  on  England, 
and  was  rewarded  by  a  grant  of  English  land,  on  which 
he  dug  a  mote  and  built  a  chateau,  and  called  it  Beaure- 
paire (the  worthy  Saxons  turned  this  into  Borreper 
without  delay).  Since  that  day  more  than  twenty  gen- 
tlemen of  the  same  lineage  had  held  in  turn  the  original 
chateau  and  lands,  and  handed  them  down  to  their  pres- 
ent lord. 

Thus  rooted  in  his  native  Brittany,  Henri  Lionel  Marie 
St.  Quentin  de  Beaurepaire  was  as  fortunate  as  any  man  can 
be  pronounced  before  he  dies.  He  had  health,  rank,  a  good 
income,  a  fair  domain,  a  goodly  house,  a  loving  wife,  and 
two  lovely  young  daughters,  all  veneration  and  affection. 
Two  months  every  year  he  visited  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main and  the  Court.  At  both  every  gentleman  and  every 
lacquey  knew  his  name,  and  his  face  :  his  return  to  Brit- 
tany after  this  short  absence  was  celebrated  by  a  rustic 
fete. 


4  WHITE   LIES. 

Above  all,  Monsieui-  de  Beaurepaire  possessed  that 
treasure  of  treasures,  couteut.  He  hunted  no  heart-burns. 
Ambition  did  not  tempt  him  ;  why  should  he  listen  to 
long  speeches,  and  court  the  unworthy,  and  descend  to 
intrigue,  for  so  precarious  and  equivocal  a  prize  as  a 
place  in  the  Government,  when  he  could  be  De  Beaure- 
paire without  trouble  or  loss  of  self-respect  ?  Social 
ambition  could  get  little  hold  of  him  ;  let  parvenus  give 
balls  half  in  doors,  half  out,  and  light  two  thousand  lamps, 
and  waste  their  substance  battling  and  manoeuvring  for 
fashionable  distinction ;  he  had  nothing  to  gain  by  such 
foolery,  nothing  to  lose  by  modest  living;  he  Avas  the 
twenty-ninth  Baron  of  Beaurepaire.  So  wise,  so  proud, 
so  little  vain,  so  strong  in  health  and  wealth  and  honor, 
one  would  have  said  nothing  less  than  an  earthquake 
could  shake  this  gentleman  and  hf.s  house.  Yet  both 
were  shaken,  though  rooted  by  centuries  to  the  soil ;  and 
by  no  vulgar  earthquake. 

For  years  France  had  bowed  in  siience  beneath  two 
galling  burdens  —  a  selfish  and  corrupt  monai<;diy,  and  a 
multitudinous,  privileged,  lazy,  and  oppressive  aristoc- 
racy, by  whom  the  peasant  was  handled  like  a  Russian 
serf.  [Said  peasant  is  now  the  principal  proprietor  of 
the  soil.] 

The  lower  orders  rose  upon  their  oppressors,  and  soon 
showed  themselves  far  blacker  specimens  of  the  same 
breed.  Law,  religion,  humanity,  and  common  sense,  hid 
their  faces ;  innocent  blood  flowed  in  a  stream,  and  terror 
reigned.  To  Monsieur  de  Beaurepaire  these  republicans 
—  murderers  of  women,  children,  and  kings  —  seemed 
the  most  horrible  monsters  nature  had  ever  produced ;  he 
put  on  black,  and  retired  from  society ;  he  felled  timber, 
and  raised  large  sums  of  money  upon  his  estate.  And 
one  day  he  mounted  his  charger,  and  disappeared  from 
the  chateau. 


WHITE   LIES.  5 

Three  months  after  this,  a  cavalier,  dusty  and  pale, 
rode  into  the  courtyard  of  Beaurepaire,  and  asked  to  see 
the  baroness.  She  came  to  him  ;  he  hung  his  head  and 
held  her  out  a  letter. 

It  contained  a  few  sad  words  from  Monsieur  de  Laroche- 
jaquelin.  The  baron  had  just  fallen  in  La  Vendee,  fight- 
ing for  the  Crown. 

From  that  hour  till  her  death  the  baroness  wore  black. 

The  mourner  would  have  been  arrested,  and  perhaps 
beheaded,  but  for  a  friend,  the  last  in  the  world  on  whom 
the  family  reckoned  for  any  solid  aid.  Dr.  Aubertin 
had  lived  in  the  chateau  twenty  years.  He  was  a  man 
of  science,  and  did  not  care  a  button  for  money;  so  he 
had  retired  from  the  practice  of  medicine,  and  pursued 
his  researches  at  ease  under  the  baron's  roof.  They  all 
loved  him,  and  laughed  at  his  occasional  reveries,  in  the 
days  of  prosperity ;  and  now,  in  one  great  crisis,  the 
protege  became  the  protector,  to  their  astonishment  and 
his  own.  But  it  was  an  age  of  ups  and  downs.  This 
amiable  theorist  was  one  of  the  oldest  verbal  republi- 
cans in  Europe.  And  why  not  ?  In  theory  a  republic 
is  the  perfect  form  of  government :  it  is  merely  in 
practice  that  it  is  impossible ;  it  is  only  upon  going  off 
paper  into  reality,  and  trying  actually  to  self-govern 
limited  nations,  after  heating  them  white  hot  with  the 
fire  of  politics  and  the  bellows  of  bombast  —  that  the 
thing  resolves  itself  into  bloodshed  silvered  with  moon- 
shine. 

Dr.  Aubertin  had  for  years  talked  and  written  specula- 
tive republicanism.  So  they  applied  to  him  whether 
the  baroness  shared  her  husband's  opinions,  and  he 
boldly  assured  them  she  did  not ;  he  added,  "  She  is 
a  pupil  of  mine."  On  this  audacious  statement  they  con- 
tented themselves  with  laying  a  heavy  fine  on  the  lands 
of  Heaurepaire. 


6  WHITE  LIES. 

Assignats  were  abundant,  but  good  mercantile  paper, 
a  notorious  coward,  had  made  itself  wings  and  fled,  and 
specie  was  creeping  into  strong  boxes  like  a  startled  rab- 
bit into  its  liole.  The  fine  was  paid  ;  but  Beaurepaire 
had  to  be  heavily  mortgaged,  and  the  loan  bore  a  high 
rate  of  interest.  This,  with  the  baron's  previous  mort- 
gages, swamped  the  estate. 

The  baroness  sold  her  carriage  and  horses,  and  she 
and  her  daughters  prepared  to  deny  themselves  all  but 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  and  pay  off  their  debts  if 
possible.  On  this  their  dependants  fell  away  from  them  ; 
their  fair-weather  friends  came  no  longer  near  them ;  and 
many  a  flush  of  indignation  crossed  their  brows,  and 
many  an  aching  pang  their  hearts,  as  adversity  revealed 
the  baseness  and  inconstancy  of  common  people  high  or 
low. 

When  the  other  servants  had  retired  with  their  wages, 
one  Jacintha  remained  behind,  and  begged  permission  to 
speak  to  the  baroness. 

"  What  would  you  with  me,  my  child  ?  "  asked  that  lady, 
with  an  accent  in  which  a  shade  of  surprise  mingled  with 
great  politeness. 

"Forgive  me,  madame,"  began  Jacintha,  with  a  formal 
courtesy ;  "  but  how  can  I  leave  you,  and  Mademoiselle 
Josephine,  and  Mademoiselle  Rose  ?  I  was  born  at 
Beaurepaire ;  my  mother  died  in  the  chateau :  my  father 
died  in  the  village  ;  but  he  had  meat  every  day  from  the 
baron's  own  table,  and  fuel  from  the  baron's  wood,  and 
died  blessing  the  house  of  Beaurepaire.  I  cannot  go. 
The  others  are  gone  because  prosperity  is  here  no  longer. 
Let  it  be  so ;  I  will  stay  till  the  sun  shines  again  upon 
the  chateau,  and  then  you  shall  send  me  away  if  you  are 
bent  on  it ;  but  not  now,  my  ladies  —  oh,  not  now !  Oh ! 
■oh  !  oh  ! "  And  the  warm-hearted  girl  burst  out  sobbing 
ungracefully. 


WHITE   LIES.  7 

"  My  child,"  said  the  baroness,  "  these  sentiments  touch 
me,  and  honor  you.  But  retire,  if  you  please,  while  I 
consult  my  daughters." 

Jacintha  cut  her  sobs  dead  short,  and  retreated  with  a 
formal  reverence. 

The  consultation  consisted  of  the  baroness  opening  her 
arms,  and  both  her  daughters  embracing  her  at  once. 
Proud  as  they  were,  they  wept  with  joy  at  having  made 
one  friend  amongst  all  their  servants.     Jacintha  stayed. 

As  months  rolled  on.  Rose  de  Beaurepaire  recovered 
her  natural  gayety  in  spite  of  bereavement  and  poverty ; 
so  strong  are  youth,  and  health,  and  temperament.  But 
her  elder  sister  had  a  grief  all  her  own :  Captain  Dujardin, 
a  gallant  young  officer,  well-born,  and.  his  own  master, 
had  courted  her  with  her  parents'  consent ;  and,  even 
when  the  baron  began  to  look  coldly  on  the  soldier  of  the 
Republic,  young  Dujardin,  though  too  proud  to  encounter 
the  baron's  irony  and  looks  of  scorn,  would  not  yield  love 
to  pique.  He  came  no  more  to  the  chateau,  but  he  would 
wait  hours  and  hours  on  the  path  to  the  little  oratory  in 
the  park,  on  the  bare  chance  of  a  passing  word  or  even  a 
kind  look  from  Josephine.  So  much  devotion  gradually 
won  a  heart  which  in  happier  times  she  had  been  half 
encouraged  to  give  him ;  and,  when  he  left  her  on  a  mil- 
itary service  of  uncommon  danger,  the  woman's  reserve 
melted,  and,  in  that  moment  of  mutual  grief  and  passion, 
she  vowed  she  loved  him  better  than  all  the  world. 

Letters  from  the  camp  breathing  a  devotion  little  short 
of  worship  fed  her  attachment ;  and  more  than  one  pub- 
lic mention  of  his  name  and  services  made  her  proud  as 
well  as  fond  of  the  fiery  young  soldier. 

Still  she  did  not  open  her  heart  to  her  parents.  The 
baron,  alive  at  that  time,  was  exasperated  against  the 
Republic,  and  all  who  served  it;  and,  as  for  the  baroness, 
she  was  of  the  old  school :  a  passionate  love  in  a  lady's 


8  WHITE   LIES. 

heart  before  marriage  was  contrary  to  her  notions  of 
etiquette.  Josephine  loved  Kose  very  tenderly;  but 
shrank  with  modest  delicacy  from  making  her  a  confi- 
dante of  feelings,  the  bare  relation  of  which  leaves  the 
female  hearer  a  child  no  longer. 

So  she  hid  her  heart,  and  delicious  first  love  nestled 
deep  in  her  nature,  and  thrilled  in  every  secret  vein  and 
fibre. 

They  had  parted  two  years,  and  he  had  joined  the 
army  of  the  Pyrenees  about  one  month,  when  suddenly 
all  correspondence  ceased  on  his  part. 

Restless  anxiety  rose  into  terror  as  this  silence  con- 
tinued ;  and  starting  and  trembling  at  every  sound,  and 
edging  to  the  window  at  every  footstep,  Josephine  ex- 
pected hourly  the  tidings  of  her  lover's  death. 

Months  rolled  on  in  silence. 

Then  a  new  torture  came.  He  must  not  be  dead  but 
unfaithful.  At  this  all  the  pride  of  her  race  was  fired 
in  her. 

The  struggle  between  love  and  ire  was  almost  too 
much  for  nature :  violently  gay  and  moody  by  turns  she 
alarmed  both  her  mother  and  the  good  Dr.  Aubertin. 
The  latter  was  not,  I  think,  quite  without  suspicion  of 
the  truth ;  however,  he  simply  prescribed  change  of  air 
and  place;  she  must  go  to  Frejus,  a  watering-place  dis- 
tant about  five  leagues.  Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire 
yielded  a  languid  assent.     To  her  all  places  were  alike. 

But  when  they  returned  from  Frejus  a  change  had 
taken  place.  Eose  had  extracted  her  sister's  secret,  and 
was  a  changed  girl.  Pity,  and  the  keen  sense  of  Joseph- 
ine's wrong,  had  raised  her  sisterly  love  to  a  passion. 
The  great-hearted  girl  hovered  about  her  lovely,  suffer- 
ing sister  like  an  angel,  and  paid  her  the  tender  atten- 
tions of  a  devoted  lover,  and  hated  Camille  Dujardin 
with  all  her  heart :  hated  him  all  the  more  that  she  saw 


WHITE   LIES.  9 

Josephine  shrink  even  from  lier  whenever  she  inveighed 
against  him. 

At  last  Rose  heard  some  news  of  the  truant  lover. 
The  fact  is,  this  young  lady  was  as  intelligent  as  she 
was  inexperienced ;  and  she  had  asked  Jacintha  to  tell 
Dard  to  talk  to  every  soldier  that  passed  through  the 
village,  and  ask  him  if  he  knew  anything  about  Captain 
Dujardin  of  the  17th  regiment.  Dard  cross-examined 
about  a  hundred  invalided  warriors,  who  did  not  even 
recognize  the  captain's  name ;  but  at  last,  by  extraordi- 
nary luck,  he  actually  did  fall  in  with  two,  who  told  him 
strange  news  about  Captain  Dujardin.  And  so  then 
Dard  told  Jacintha ;  and  Jacintha  soon  had  the  men 
into  the  kitchen  and  told  Rose.  Rose  ran  to  tell  Joseph- 
ine ;  but  stopped  in  the  passage,  and  turned  suddenly 
very  cold.  Her  courage  failed  her;  she  feared  Joseph- 
ine would  not  take  the  news  as  she  ought ;  and  perhaps 
would  not  love  her  so  Avell  if  she  told  her;  so  she 
thought  to  herself  she  would  let  the  soldiers  tell  their 
own  tale.  She  went  into  the  room  where  Josephine  was 
reading  to  the  baroness  and  Dr.  Aubertin  ;  she  sat  quietly 
down ;  but  at  the  first  opportunity  made  Josephine  one 
of  those  imperceptible  signals  which  women,  and  above 
all,  sisters,  have  reduced  to  so  subtle  a  system.  This 
done,  she  went  carelessly  out :  and  Josephine  in  due 
course  followed  her,  and  found  her  at  the  door. 

"  Wliat  is  it  ?  "  said  Josephine,  earnestly. 

"  Have  you  courage  ?  "  was  Rose's  reply. 

"  He  is  dead  ?  "  said  Josephine,  turning  pale  as  ashes. 

"  No,  no ; "  said  Rose  hastily ;  "•  he  is  alive.  But  j-ou 
will  need  all  your  courage." 

"  Since  he  lives  I  fear  nothing,"  said  Josephine ;  and 
stood  there  and  quivered  from  head  to  foot.  Rose,  with 
pitying  looks,  took  her  by  the  hand  and  drew  her  iu 
silence  towards  the  kitchen. 


10  WHITE  LIES. 

Josephine  yielded  a  mute  submission  at  first;  but  at 
the  very  door  hung  back  and  faltered,  "He  loves  an- 
other; he  is  married:  let  me  go."  Rose  made  no  reply, 
but  left  her  there  and  went  into  the  kitchen  and  found 
two  dragoons  seated  round  a  bottle  of  wine.  They  rose 
and  saluted  her. 

"  Be  seated,  my  brave  men,"  said  she ;  "  only  please 
tell  me  what  you  told  Jacintha  about  Captain  Dujardin." 

"Don't  stain  your  mouth  with  the  captain,  my  little 
lady.     He  is  a  traitor." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Marcellus  !  mademoiselle  asks  us  how  we  know  Cap- 
tain Dujardin  to  be  a  traitor.     Speak." 

Marcellus,  thus  appealed  to,  told  Rose  after  his  own 
fashion  that  he  knew  the  captain  well :  that  one  day  the 
captain  rode  out  of  the  camp  and  never  returned :  that 
at  first  great  anxiety  was  felt  on  his  behalf,  for  the  cap- 
tain was  a  great  favorite,  and  passed  for  the  smartest 
soldier  in  the  division :  that  after  awhile  anxiety  gave 
place  to  some  very  awkward  suspicions,  and  these  suspi- 
cions it  was  his  lot  and  his  comrade's  here  to  confirm. 
About  a  month  later  he  and  the  said  comrade  and  two 
more  were  sent,  well  mounted,  to  reconnoitre  a  Spanish 
village.  At  the  door  of  a  little  inn  they  caught  sight  of 
a  French  uniform.  This  so  excited  their  curiosity  thit 
he  went  forward  nearer  than  prudent,  and  distinctly 
recognized  Captain  Dujardin  seated  at  a  table  drinking 
between  two  guerillas ;  then  he  rode  back  and  told  the 
others,  who  then  came  up  and  satisfied  themselves  it  was 
so :  that  if  any  of  the  party  had  entertained  a  doubt,  it 
was  removed  in  an  unpleasant  way ;  he,  Marcellus,  dis- 
gusted at  the  sight  of  a  French  uniform  drinking  among 
Spaniards,  took  down  his  carabine  and  fired  at  the  group 
as  carefully  as  a  somewhat  restive  horse  permitted :  at 
this,  as  if  by  magic,  a  score  or  so  of  guerillas  poured  out 


WHITE   LIES.  11 

from  Heaven  knows  .where,  nnisket  in  hand,  and  deliv- 
ered a  volley ;  the  officer  in  command  of  the  party  fell 
dead,  Jean  Jacques  here  got  a  broken  arm,  and  his  own 
horse  was  wounded  in  two  places,  and  fell  from  loss  of 
blood  a  few  furlongs  from  the  French  camp,  to  the 
neighborhood  of  which  the  vagabonds  pursued  them, 
hallooing  and  shouting  and  tiring  like  barbarous  banditti 
as  they  were. 

''However,  here  I  am,"  concluded  Marcellus,  "in- 
valided for  awhile,  my  lady,  but  not  expended  yet :  we 
will  soon  dash  in  among  them  again  for  death  or  glory. 
Meantime,"  concluded  he,  filling  both  glasses,  "let  us 
drink  to  the  eyes  of  beauty  (military  salute) ;  and  to  the 
renown  of  France ;  and  double  damnation  to  all  her 
traitors,  like  that  Captain  Dujardin ;  whose  neck  may 
the  devil  twist." 

Ere  they  could  drink  to  this  energetic  toast,  a  low 
wail  at  the  door,  like  a  dying  hare's,  arrested  the  glasses 
on  their  road,  and  the  rough  soldiers  stood  transfixed, 
and  looked  at  one  another  in  some  dismay.  Kose  flew 
to  the  door  with  a  face  full  of  concern. 

Josephine  was  gone. 

Then  Eose  had  the  tact  and  resolution  to  sa}'  a  few 
kind,  encouraging  words  to  the  soldiers,  and  bid  Jacintha 
be  hospitable  to  them.  This  done  she  darted  up-stairs 
after  Josephine ;  she  reached  the  main  corridor  just  in 
time  to  see  her  creep  along  it  Avith  the  air  and  carriage 
of  a  woman  of  fifty,  and  enter  her  own  room. 

Kose  followed  softly  with  wet  eyes,  and  turned  the 
handle  gently.     But  the  door  was  locked. 

'*'  Josephine  !  Josephine  ! " 

Ko  answer. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you.  I  am  frightened.  Oh,  do 
not  be  alone." 

A  choking  voice  answered,  "  Give  me  a  little  while  to 


12  WHITE    LIES. 

draw  my  breath."  Rose  sank  down  at  the  door,  and  sat 
close  to  it,  with  her  head  against  it,  sobbing  bitterly. 
She  was  hurt  at  not  being  let  in ;  such  a  friend  as  she 
had  proved  herself.  But  this  personal  feeling  was  only 
a  fraction  of  her  grief  and  anxiety. 

A  good  half  hour  elapsed  ere  Josephine,  pale  and 
stern  as  no  one  had  ever  seen  her  till  that  hour,  suddenly 
opened  the  door.  She  started  at  sight  of  Hose  couched 
sorrowful  on  the  threshold ;  her  stern  look  relaxed  into 
tender  love  and  pity ;  she  sank,  blushing,  on  her  knees, 
and  took  her  sister's  head  quickly  to  her  bosom.  "  Oh, 
my  little  love,  have  you  been  here  all  this  time  ?  "  — • 
<'0h!  oh!  oh!"  was  all  the  little  love  could  reply. 
Then  the  deserted  one,  still  kneeling,  took  Rose  in  her 
lap,  and  caressed  and  comforted  her,  and  poured  words 
of  gratitude  and  affection  over  her  like  a  warm  shower. 

They  rose  hand  in  hand. 

Then  Rose  suddenly  seized  Josephine,  and  looked 
long  and  anxiously  dowi.  into  her  eyes.  They  flashed 
fire  under  the  scrutiny.  "  Yes,  it  is  all  over ;  I  could  not 
despise  and  love.  I  am  dead  to  him,  as  he  is  dead  to 
France." 

This  was  joyful  n^^ws  to  Rose.  "  I  hoped  it  would  be 
so,"  said  she ;  "  but  y  u  frightened  me.  My  noble  sister, 
were  I  ever  to  lose  your  esteem,  I  should  die.  Oh,  how 
awful  yet  how  beautiful  is  your  scorn.  For  worlds  I 
would  not  be  that  Cam "  —  Josephine  laid  her  hand 
imperiously  on  Rose's  mouth.  "  To  mention  his  name 
to  me  will  be  to  insult  me ;  De  Beaurepaire  I  am,  and  a 
Frenchwoman.  Come,  dear,  let  us  go  down  and  comfort 
our  mother." 

They  went  down ;  and  this  patient  sufferer,  and  high- 
minded  conqueror,  of  her  own  accord  took  up  a  common- 
place book,  and  read  aloud  for  two  mortal  hours  to  her 
mother  and  Aubertin.     Her  voice  only  wavered  twice. 


"WHITE   LIES.  13 

To  feel  that  life  is  ended;  to  wish  existence,  too,  had 
ceased ;  and  so  to  sit  down,  an  aching  hollow,  and  take 
a  part  and  sham  an  interest  in  twaddle  to  please  others; 
snch  are  woman's  feats.  How  like  nothing  at  all  they 
look  ! 

A  man  would  rather  sit  on  the  buffer  of  a  steam- 
engine  and  rids  at  the  Great  Redan. 

Rose  sat  at  her  elbow,  a  little  behind  her,  and  turned 
the  leaves,  and  on  one  pretence  or  other  held  Josephine's 
hand  nearly  all  the  rest  of  the  day.  Its  delicate  fibres 
remained  tense,  like  a  greyhound's  sinews  after  a  race, 
and  the  blue  veins  rose  to  sight  in  it,  though  her  voice 
and  eyes  were  mastered. 

So  keen  was  the  strife,  so  matched  the  antagonists,  so 
hard  the  victory. 

For  ire  and  scorn  are  mighty.  And  noble  blood  in  a 
noble  heart  is  heroic.     And  Love  is  a  giant. 


14  WHITE  LIES. 


CHAPTER  11. 

The  French  provinces  were  now  organized  upon  a  half 
military  plan,  by  which  all  the  local  authorities  radiated 
towards  a  centre  of  government.  By-the-by,  this  feature 
has  survived  subsequent  revolutions  and  political  changes. 

In  days  of  change,  youth  is  at  a  premium ;  because, 
though  experience  is  valuable,  the  experience  of  one 
order  of  things  unfits  ordinary  men  for  another  order  of 
things.  So  a  good  many  old  fogies  in  ffice  were  shown 
the  door,  and  a  good  deal  of  youth  and  energy  infused 
into  the  veins  of  provincial  government.  For  instance, 
Edouard  Riviere,  who  had  but  just  completed  his  educa- 
tion with  singular  eclat  at  a  military  school,  was  one  fine 
day  ordered  into  Brittany  to  fill  a  responsible  post  under 
Commandant  Raynal,  a  blunt,  rough  soldier,  that  had 
risen  from  the  ranks,  and  bore  a  much  higher  character 
for  zeal  and  moral  integrity  than  for  affability. 

This  officer  was  the  son  of  a  widow  that  kept  a  grocer's 
shop  in  Paris.  She  intended  him  for  spice,  but  he 
thirsted  for  glory,  and  vexed  her.  So  she  yielded,  as 
mothers  will. 

In  the  armies  of  the  republic  a  good  soldier  rose  with 
unparalleled  certainty,  and  rapidity,  too ;  for  when  sol- 
diers are  being  mowed  down  like  oats,  it  is  a  glorious 
time  for  such  of  them  as  keep  their  feet.  Raynal 
mounted  fast,  and  used  to  write  to  his  mother,  and  joke 
her  about  the  army  being  such  a  bad  profession  ;  and,  as 
he  was  all  for  glory,  not  money,  he  lived  with  Spartan 
frugality,  and  saved  half  his  pay  and  all  his  prize  money 
for  the  old  lady  in  Paris. 


WHITE   LIES.  15 

But  this  prosperous  man  had  to  endure  a  deep  disap- 
pointment ;  on  the  very  day  he  was  made  commandant 
and  one  of  the  general's  aides-de-camp,  came  a  letter 
into  the  camp.  His  mother  was  dead  after  a  short  ill- 
ness. This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  the  simple,  rugged 
soldier,  who  had  never  had  much  time  nor  inclination  to 
flirt  with  a  lot  of  girls,  and  toughen  his  heart.  He  came 
back  to  Paris  honored  and  rich,  but  downcast.  The  old 
home,  empty  of  his  mother,  seemed  to  him  not  to  have 
the  old  look.  It  made  him  sadder.  To  cheer  him  up 
they  brought  him  much  money.  The  widow's  trade  had 
taken  a  wonderful  start  the  last  few  years,-  and  she  had 
been  playing  the  same  game  as  he  had,  living  on  ten- 
pence  a  day,  and  saving  all  for  him.  This  made  him 
sadder,  if  anything. 

"What,"  said  he,  '-have  we  both  been  scraping  all  this 
dross  together  for  ?  I  would  give  it  all  to  sit  one  hour 
by  the  fire,  with  her  hand  in  mine,  and  hear  her  say, 
'  Scamp,  you  made  me  unhappy  when  you  were  young, 
but  I  have  lived  to  be  proud  of  you.' " 

He  applied  for  active  service,  no  matter  what :  obtainbd 
at  once  this  post  in  Brittany,  and  threw  himself  into  it 
with  that  honest  zeal  and  activity,  which  are  the  best 
earthly  medicine  for  all  our  griefs.  He  was  busy  writ- 
ing, when  young  Riviero  first  presented  himself.  He 
looked  up  for  a  moment,  and  eyed  him,  to  take  his 
measure ;  then  put  into  his  hand  a  report  by  young 
Nicole,  a  subordinate  filling  a  post  of  the  same  nature  as 
Riviere's ;  and  bade  him  analyze  that  report  on  the  spot : 
with  this  he  instantly  resumed  his  own  work. 

Edouard  Riviere  was  an  adept  at  this  sort  of  task,  and 
soon  handed  him  a  neat  analysis.  Raynal  ran  his  eye 
over  it,  nodded  cold  approval,  and  told  him  to  take  this 
for  the  present  as  a  guide  as  to  his  own  duties.  He 
then  pointed  to  a  map  on  which  Riviere's  district  was 


16  WHITE    LIES. 

marked  in  blue  ink,  and  bade  him  find  the  centre  of  it. 
Edouard  took  a  pair  of  compasses  off  the  table,  and  soon 
discovered  that  tlie  village  of  Beaurepaire  was  his  centre. 
"  Then  quarter  yourself  at  Beaurepaire  ;  and  good-day," 
said  Raynal. 

The  chateau  was  in  sight  from  Riviere's  quarters,  and 
he  soon  learned  that  it  belonged  to  a  royalist  widow 
and  her  daughters,  who  all  three  held  themselves  quite 
aloof  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  "  Ah,"  said  the  young 
citizen,  "  I  see.  If  these  rococo  citizens  play  that  game 
with  me,  I  shall  have  to  take  them  down."  Thus  a  fresh 
peril  menaced  this  family,  on  whose  hearts  and  fortunes 
such  heavy  blows  had  fallen. 

One  evening  our  young  official,  after  a  day  spent  in 
the  service  of  the  country,  deigned  to  take  a  little  stroll 
to  relieve  the  cares  of  administration.  He  imprinted  on 
his  beardless  face  the  expression  of  a  wearied  statesman, 
and  strolled  through  an  admiring  village.  The  men  pre- 
tended veneration  from  policy  ;  the  women,  whose  views 
of  this  great  man  were  shallower  but  more  sincere, 
smiled  approval  of  his  airs ;  and  the  young  puppy 
affected  to  take  no  notice  of  either  sex. 

Outside  the  village,  Publicola  suddenly  encountered 
two  young  ladies,  who  resembled  nothing  he  had  hith- 
erto met  with  in  his  district ;  they  were  dressed  in  black, 
and  with  extreme  simplicity ;  but  their  easy  grace  and 
composure,  and  the  refined  sentiment  of  their  gentle 
faces,  told  at  a  glance  they  belonged  to  the  high  nobility. 
Publicola  divined  them  at  once,  and  involuntarily  raised 
his  hat  to  so  much  beauty  and  dignity,  instead  of  poking 
it  with  a  finger  as  usual.  On  this  the  ladies  instantly 
courtesied  to  him  after  the  manner  of  their  party,  with  a 
sweep  and  a  majesty,  and  a  precision  of  politeness,  that 
the  pup  would  have  laughed  at  if  he  had  heard  of  it ; 
but  seeing  it  done,  and  well  done,  and  by  lovely  women 


"WHITE   LIES.  17 

of  rank,  he  was  taken  aback  by  it,  and  lifted  his  hat 
again,  and  bowed  again  after  lie  had  gone  by,  and  was 
generally  flustered.  In  short,  instead  of  a  member  of 
the  Consular  Government  saluting  private  individuals  of 
a  decayed  party  that  existed  only  by  sufferance,  a  hand- 
some, vain,  good-natured  boy  had  met  two  self-possessed 
young  ladies  of  distinction  and  breeding,  and  had  cut 
the  usual  figure. 

For  the  next  hundred  yards  his  cheeks  burned  and  his 
vanity  cooled.  But  bumptiousness  is  elastic  iu  France, 
as  in  England,  and  doubtless  among  the  Esquimaux. 
"Well,  they  are  pretty  girls,"  says  he  to  himself.  "I 
never  saw  two  such  pretty  girls  together ;  they  will  do 
for  me  to  flirt  with  while  I  am  banished  to  this  Arcadia." 
Banished  from  school,  I  beg  to  observe. 

And  "  awful  beauty "  being  no  longer  in  sight,  ^[r. 
Edouard  resolved  he  would  flirt  with  them  to  their 
hearts'  content.  But  there  are  ladies  with  whom  a  cer- 
tain preliminary  is  required  before  you  can  flirt  with 
them.  You  must  be  on  speaking  terms.  How  was  this 
to  be  managed  ? 

He  used  to  watch  at  his  window  with  a  telescope,  and 
whenever  the  sisters  came  out  of  their  own  grounds, 
which  unfortunately  was  not  above  twice  a  week,  he 
would  throw  himself  in  their  way  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent, and  pay  them  a  dignified  and  courteous  salute, 
which  he  had  carefully  got  up  before  a  mirror  in  the 
privacy  of  his  own  chamber. 

One  day,  as  he  took  off  his  hat  to  the  young  ladies, 
there  broke  from  one  of  them  a  smile,  so  sudden,  sweet, 
and  vivid,  that  he  seemed  to  feel  it  smite  him  first  on 
the  eyes  then  in  the  heart.  He  could  not  sleep  for  this 
smile. 

Yet  he  had  seen  many  smilers ;  but  to  be  sure  most  of 
them  smiled  without  effect,  because  they  smiled  eter- 
2 


18  WHITE   LIES. 

nally ;  they  seemed  cast  with  their  mouths  open,  and 
their  pretty  teeth  forever  in  sight;  and  this  has  a  sad- 
dening influence  on  a  man  of  sense  —  when  it  has  any. 
But  here  a  fair,  pensive  face  had  brightened  at  sight  of 
him  ;  a  lovely  countenance,  on  which  circumstances,  not 
nature,  had  impressed  gravity,  had  sprung  back  to  its 
natural  gayCty  for  a  moment,  and  had  thrilled  and 
bewitched  the  beholder. 

The  next  Sunday  he  went  to  church  —  and  there 
worshipped  —  whom  ?  Cupid.  He  smarted  for  his 
heathenism ;  for  the  young  ladies  went  with  higher 
motives,  and  took  no  notice  of  him.  They  lowered 
their  long  silken  lashes  over  one  breviary,  and  scarcely 
observed  the  handsome  citizen.  Meantime  he,  contem- 
plating their  pious  beauty  with  earthly  eyes,  was  drink- 
ing long  draughts  of  intoxicating  passion.  And  when 
after  the  service  they  each  took  an  arm  of  Dr.  Aubertin, 
and  he  with  the  air  of  an  admiral  convoying  two  ships 
choke-full  of  specie,  conducted  his  precious  charge  away 
home,  our  young  citizen  felt  jealous,  and  all  but  hated 
the  worthy  doctor. 

This  went  on  till  he  became  listless  and  dejected  on 
the  days  he  did  not  see  them.  Then  he  asked  himself 
Avhether  he  was  not  a  cowardly  fool  to  keep  at  such  a 
distance.  After  all  he  was  a  man  in  authority.  His 
friendship  was  not  to  be  despised,  least  of  all  by  a 
family  suspected  of  disaffection  to  the  state. 

He  put  on  his  glossy  beaver  with  enormous  brim,  high 
curved;  his  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons;  his  white 
waistcoat,  gray  breeches,  and  top-boots ;  and  marched  up 
to  the  chateau  of  Beaurepaire,  and  sent  in  his  card  with 
his  name  and  office  inscribed. 

Jacintha  took  it,  bestowed  a  glance  of  undisguised 
admiration  on  the  yoiing  Adonis,  and  carried  it  to  the 
baroness.  That  lady  sent  her  promptly  down  again  with 
a  black-edged  note  to  this  effect. 


WHITE  LIES.  19 

Highly  flattered  by  ^lonsieur  de  Riviere's  visit,  the  baroness 
must  inform  him  that  she  receives  none  but  old  acquaintances, 
in  the  present  grief  of  the  family,  and  of  the  kingdom. 

Youug  Riviere  was  cruelly  mortified  by  this  rebuff. 
He  went  off  hurriedly,  grinding  his  teeth  with  rage. 

"  Cursed  aristocrats  !  We  have  done  well  to  pull  you 
down,  and  we  will  have  you  lower  still.  How  I  despise 
myself  for  giving  any  one  the  chance  to  affront  me  thus. 
The  haughty  old  fool ;  if  she  had  known  her  interest, 
she  would  have  been  too  glad  to  make  a  powerful  friend. 
These  royalists  are  in  a  ticklish  position;  I  can  tell  her 
that.  She  calls  me  De  Riviere ;  that  implies  nobody 
without  a  '  De '  to  their  name  would  have  the  pre- 
sumption to  visit  her  old  tumble-down  house.  Well,  it 
is  a  lesson ;  I  am  a  republican,  and  the  Commonwealth 
trusts  and  honors  me  ;  yet  I  am  so  ungrateful  as  to  go 
out  of  the  way  to  be  civil  to  her  enemies,  to  royalists ; 
as  if  those  worn-out  creatures  had  hearts,  as  if  they 
could  comprehend  the  struggle  that  took  place  in  my 
mind  between  duty,  and  generosity  to  the  fallen,  before 
I  could  make  the  first  overture  to  their  acquaintance ;  as 
if  they  could  understand  the  politeness  of  the  heart,  or 
anything  nobler  than  curving  and  ducking  and  heartless 
etiquette.  This  is  the  last  notice  I  will  ever  take  of  that 
old  woman,  unless  it  is  to  denounce  her." 

He  walked  home  to  the  town  very  fast,  his  heart  boil- 
ing, and  his  lips  compressed,  and  his  brow  knitted. 

To  this  mood  succeeded  a  sullen  and  bitter  one.  He 
was  generous,  but  vain,  and  his  love  had  humiliated  him 
so  bitterly,  he  resolved  to  tear  it  out  of  his  heart.  He 
absented  himself  from  church  ;  he  met  the  young  ladies 
no  more.  He  struggled  fiercely  with  his  passion ;  he 
went  about  dogged,  silent,  and  sigliing.  Presently  he 
devoted  his  leisure  hours  to  shooting  partridges  instead 


20  WHITE    LIES. 

of  ladies.  And  he  was  right ;  partridges  cannot  shoot 
back;  whereas  beautiful  women,  like  Cupid,  are  all 
archers  more  or  less,  and  often  with  one  arrow  from  eye 
or  lip  do  more  execution  than  they  have  suffered  from 
several  discharges  of  our  small  shot. 

In  these  excursions,  Edouard  was  generally  accom- 
panied by  a  thick-set  rustic  called  Dard,  who,  I  believe, 
purposes  to  reveal  his  own  character  to  you,  and  so  save 
me  that  trouble. 

One  fine  afternoon,  about  four  o'clock,  this  pair  burst 
remorselessly  through  a  fence,  and  landed  in  the  road 
opposite  Bigot's  Auberge  ;  a  long  Tow  house,  with  "  Ici 
ON  LOGE  A  PIED  ET  A  CHEVAL,"  Written  all  across  it  in 
gigantic  letters.  Riviere  was  for  iiaoving  homeward,  but 
Dard  halted  and  complained  dismally  of  "  the  soldier's 
gripes."  The  statesman  had  never  heard  of  that  com- 
plaint, so  Dard  explained  that  the  vulgar  name  for  it  was 
hunger.  "  And  only  smell,"  said  he,  "  the  soup  is  just  fit 
to  come  off  the  fire." 

Riviere  smiled  sadly,  but  consented  to  deign  to  eat  a 
morsel  in  the  porch.  Thereat  Dard  dashed  Avildly  into 
the  kitchen. 

They  dined  at  one  little  round  table,  each  after  his 
fashion.  When  Dard  could  eat  no  more,  he  proceeded 
to  drink  ;  and  to  talk  in  proportion.  Riviere,  lost  in  his 
own  thoughts,  attended  to  him  as  men  of  business  do  to 
a  babbling  brook ;  until  suddenly  from  the  mass  of 
twaddle  broke  forth  a  magic  word  —  Beaurepaire  ;  then 
the  languid  lover  pricked  up  his  ears  and  found  Mr. 
Dard  was  abusing  that  noble  family  right  and  left.. 
Young  Riviere  inquired  what  ground  of  offence  they  had 
given  him.  •'  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Dard ;  "  they  impose 
on  Jacintha ;  and  so  she  imposes  on  me."  Then  observ- 
ing he  had  at  last  gained  his  employer's  ear,  he  became 
prodigiously  loquacious,  as  such  people  generally  are 
when  once  they  get  upon  their  own  griefs. 


WHITE   LIES.  21 

"  These  Beaurepaire  aristocrats,"  said  he,  with  his 
hard  peasant  good-sense,  "  are  neither  the  one  thing  nor 
the  other;  they  cannot  keep  up  nobility,  they  have  not 
the  means ;  they  will  not  come  down  off  their  perch, 
they  have  not  the  sense.  'No,  for  as  small  as  they  are, 
they  must  look  and  talk  as  big  as  ever.  They  can  only 
afford  one  servant,  and  I  don't  believe  they  pay  her ; 
but  they  must  be  attended  on  just  as  obsequious  as  when 
they  had  a  dozen.  And  this  is  fatal  to  all  us  little 
people  that  have  the  misfortune  to  be  connected  with 
them." 

"  Why,  how  are  you  connected  with  them  ?  " 

"  By  the  tie  of  affection." 

"  I  thought  you  hated  them." 

'•'  Of  course  I  do ;  but  I  have  the  ill-luck  to  love 
Jacintha,  and  she  loves  these  aristocrats,  and  makes  me 
do  little  odd  jobs  for  them."  And  at  this  Dard's  eyes 
suddenly  glared  with  horror. 

"  Weil,  what  of  that  ?"  asked  Eiviere. 

"  What  of  it,  citizen,  what  ?  you  do  not  know  the 
fatal  meaning  of  those  accursed  words  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  never  heard  of  a  man's  back  being  broken 
by  little  odd  jobs." 

"  Perhaps  not  his  back,  citizen,  but  his  heart  ?  if  little 
odd  jobs  will  not  break  that,  why  nothing  will.  Torn 
from  place  to  place,  and  from  trouble  to  trouble ;  as  soon 
as  one  tiresome  thing  begins  to  go  a  bit  smooth,  off  to  a 
fresh  plague,  in-doors  work  when  it  is  dry,  out-a-doors 
when  it  snows  ;  and  then  all  bustle  ;  no  taking  one's 
Avork  quietly,  the  only  way  it  agrees  with  a  fellow. 
*  Milk  the  cow,  Dard,  but  look  sharp ;  the  baroness's 
chair  wants  mending.  Take  these  slops  to  the  pig,  but 
you  must  not  wait  to  see  him  enjoy  them :  you  are 
wanted  to  chop  billets.'  Beat  the  mats,  take  down  the 
curtains,  walk  to  church    (best  part  of   a  league),  and 


22  .  WHITE   LIES. 

heat  the  pew  cushions  ;  come  back  and  cut  the  cabbages, 
paint  the  door,  and  wheel  the  okl  lady  about  the  terrace, 
rub  quicksilver  on  the  little  dog's  back,  —  mind  he  don't 
bite  you  to  make  hisself  sick,  —  repair  the  ottoman,  roll 
the  gravel,  scour  the  kettles,  carry  half  a  ton  of  water 
up  twopurostairs,  trim  the  turf,  prune  the  vine,  drag  the 
fish-pond;  and  when  you  are  there,  go  in  and  gather 
water  lilies  for  Mademoiselle  Josephine  while  you  are 
drowning  the  puppies;  that  is  little  odd  jobs:  may 
Satan  twist  her  neck  who  invented  them !  " 

''  Very  sad  all  this,"  said  young  Riviere. 

Dard  took  the  little  sneer  for  sympathy,  and  proceeded 
to  "  the  cruellest  wrong  of  all." 

"When  I  go  into  their  kitchen  to  court  Jacintha  a 
bit,  instead  of  finding  a  good  supper  there,  which  a  man 
has  a  right  to,  courting  a  cook,  if  I  don't  take  one  in  my 
pocket,  there  is  no  supper,  not  to  say  supper,  for  either 
her  or  me.  /  don't  call  a  salad*  and  a  bit  of  cheese-rind 
—  supper.  Beggars  in  silk  and  satin  !  Every  sou  they 
have  goes  on  to  their  backs,  instead  of  into  their  bellies." 

"I  have  heard  their  income  is  much  reduced,"  said 
Edouard  gently. 

"  Income !  I  would  not  change  with  them  if  they'd 
throw  me  in  half  a  pancake  a  day.  I  tell  you  they  are 
the  poorest  family  for  leagues  round ;  not  that  they  need 
be  quite  so  starved,  if  they  could  swallow  a  little  of  their 
pride.  But  no,  they  must  have  china  and  plate  and  fine 
linen  at  dinner ;  so  their  fine  plates  are  always  bare,  and 
their  silver  trays  empty.  Ask  the  butcher,  if  you  don't 
believe  vie.  Just  you  ask  him  whether  he  does  not  go 
three  times  to  the  smallest  shopkeeper,  for  once  he  goes 
to  Beaurepaire.  Their  tenants  send  them  a  little  meal 
and  eggs,  and  now  and  then  a  hen  ;  and  their  great  garden 
is  chock  full  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  Jacintha  makes 
me  dig  in  it  gratis  ;  and  so  they  muddle  on.     But,  bless 


WHITE    LIES.  23 

your  heart,  coffee  !  they  can't  afford  it ;  so  they  roast  a 
lot  of  horse-beans  that  cost  nothing,  and  grind  them,  and 
serve  up  the  liquor  in  a  silver  coffee-pot,  on  a  silver 
salver.     Haw,  haw,  haw  I  " 

"  Is  it  j)0ssible  ?  reduced  to  this  ? "  said  Edouard 
gravely. 

'•'  Don't  you  be  so  weak  as  to  pity  them,"  cried  the 
remorseless  plebeian.  "  Why  don't  they  melt  their  sil- 
ver into  soup,  and  cut  down  their  plate  into  rashers  of 
bacon  ?  why  not  sell  the  superfluous,  and  buy  the  need- 
ful, which  it  is  grub  ?  And,  above  all,  why  don't  they 
let  their  old  tumble-down  palace  to  some  rich  grocer,  and 
that  accursed  garden  along  with  it,  where  I  sweat  gratis, 
and  live  small  and  comfortable,  and  pay  honest  men  for 
their  little  odd  jobs,  and  "  —  Here  Eiviere  interrupted 
him,  and  asked  if  it  was  really  true  about  the  beans. 

"  True  ?  "  said  Dard,  "  why,  I  have  seen  Rose  doing  it 
for  the  old  woman's  breakfast :  it  was  Rose  invented  the 
move.  A  girl  of  nineteen  beginning  already  to  deceive 
the  world  !  But  they  are  all  tarred  with  the  same  stick. 
Down  with  the  aristocrats  !  " 

"Dard,"  said  Riviere,  "you  are  a  brute." 

"  Me,  citizen  ?  "  inquired  Dard  with  every  appearance 
of  genuine  surprise. 

Edouard  Riviere  rose  from  his  seat  in  great  excite- 
ment. Dard's  abuse  of  the  family  he  was  lately  so 
bitter  against  had  turned  him  right  round.  He  pitied 
the  very  baroness  herself,  and  forgave  her  declining  his 
visit. 

"  Be  silent,"  said  he,  "  for  shame  !  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  noble  povert}' ;  and  you  have  described  it.  I 
might  have  disdained  these  people  in  their  prosperity, 
but  I  revere  them  in  their  affliction.  And  I'll  tell  you 
Avhat,  don't  you  ever  dare  to  speak  slightly  of  them 
again  in  my  presence,  or  "  — 


24  WHITE   LIK.S. 

He  did  not  conclude  his  threat,  for  just  then  he 
observed  that  a  strai)ping  girl,  with  a  basket  at  her  feet, 
was  standing  against  the  corner  of  tlie  Auberge,  in  a 
mighty  careless  attitude,  but  doing  nothing,  so  most 
likely  listening  with  all  her  ears  and  soul.  Dard,  how- 
ever, did  not  see  her,  his  back  being  turned  to  her  as  he 
Bat ;  so  he  replied  at  his  ease,  — 

"  I  consent,"  said  he  very  coolly  :  "  that  is  your  affair; 
but  permit  me,"  and  here  he  clenched  his  teeth  at  re- 
membrance of  his  wrongs,  "  to  say  that  I  will  no  more 
be  a  scullery  man  without  wages  to  these  high-minded 
starvelings,  these  illustrious  beggars."  Then  he  heated 
himself  red-hot.  "  I  will  not  even  be  their  galley  slave. 
Next,  I  have  done  my  last  little  odd  job  in  this  world," 
yelled  the  now  infuriated  factotum,  bouncing  up  to  his 
feet  in  brief  fury.  ''  Of  two  things  one  :  either  Jacintha 
quits  those  aristos,  or  I  leave  Jacin —  eh  ?  —  ah  !  —  oh ! 
—  ahem  !  How  —  'ow  d'ye  do,  Jacintha  ?  "  And  his 
roar  ended  in  a  whine,  as  when  a  dog  runs  barking  out, 
and  receives  in  full  career  a  cut  from  his  master's  whip, 
his  generous  rage  turns  to  whimper  with  ludicrous 
abruptness.  "  I  was  just  talking  of  you,  Jacintha," 
quavered  Dard  in  conclusion. 

"I  heard  you,  Dard,"  replied  Jacintha  slowly,  softly, 
grimly. 

Dard  withered. 

It  was  a  lusty  young  woman,  with  a  comely  peasant 
face  somewhat  freckled,  and  a  pair  of  large  black  eyes 
surmounted  by  coal-black  brows.  She  stood  in  a  bold 
attitude,  her  massive  but  well-formed  arms  folded  so  that 
the  pressure  of  each  against  the  other  made  them  seem 
gigantic,  and  her  cheek  red  with  anger,  and  her  eyes 
glistening  like  basilisks  upon  citizen  Dard.  She  looked 
so  grand,  with  her  lowering  black  brows,  that  even 
Kiviere   felt  a  little  uneasy.     As  for  Jacintha,  she  was 


\VHITE   LIES.  25 

evidently  brooding  with  more  ire  than  she  chose  to  utter 
before  a  stranger.  She  just  slowly  unclasped  her  arms, 
and,  keeping  her  eye  lixed  on  Dard,  pointed  with  a 
domineering  gesture  towards  Beaurepaire.  Then  the 
doughty  Dard  seemed  no  longer  master  of  his  limbs :  he 
rose  slowly,  with  his  eyes  fastened  to  hers,  and  was 
moving  off  like  an  ill-oiled  automaton  in  the  direction 
indicated ;  but  at  that  a  suppressed  snigger  began  to 
shake  Riviere's  whole  body  till  it  bobbed  up  and  down 
on  the  seat.     Dard  turned  to  him  for  sympathy. 

"  There,  citizen,'^  he  cried,  "  do  you  see  that  imperious 
gesture  ?  That  means  you  promised  to  dig  in  the  aris- 
tocrat's garden  this  afternoon,  so  march !  Here,  then,  is 
one  that  has  gained  nothing  by  kings  being  put  down, 
for  I  am  ruled  with  a  mopstick  of  iron.  Thank  your 
stars,  citizen,  that  you  are  not  in  my  place." 

"Dard,"  retorted  Jacintha,  "if  you  don't  like  your 
place,  I'd  quit  it.  There  are  two  or  three  young  men 
down  in  the  village  will  be  glad  to  take  it." 

"  I  won't  give  them  the  chance,  the  vile  egotists ! " 
cried  Dard.  And  he  returned  to  the  chateau  and  little 
odd  jobs. 

Jacintha  hung  behind,  lowered  her  eyes,  put  on  a  very 
deferential  manner,  and  thanked  Edouard  for  the  kind 
sentiments  he  had  uttered ;  but  at  the  same  time  she 
took  the  liberty  to  warn  him  against  believing  the  ex- 
travagant stories  Dard  had  been  telling  about  her  mis- 
tress's poverty.  She  said  the  simple  fact  was  that  the 
baron  had  contracted  debts,  and  the  baroness,  being  the 
soul  of  honor,  was  living  in  great  economy  to  pay  them 
off.  Then,  as  to  Dard  getting  no  supper  up  at  I>eaure- 
paire,  a  complaint  that  appeared  to  sting  her  particularly, 
she  assured  him  she  was  alone  to  blame  ;  the  baroness 
would  be  very  angry  if  she  knew  it.  "  But,"  said  she, 
"  Dard  is  an  egotist.  Perhaps  you  may  have  noticed 
that  trait  in  him." 


26  WHITE   LIES. 

"Glimpses  of  it,"  replied  Riviere,  laughing. 

"  Monsieur,  he  is  so  egotistic  that  he  has  not  a  friend 
in  the  world  but  me.  I  forgive  him,  because  I  know  the 
reason ;  he  has  never  had  a  headache  or  a  heartache  in 
his  life." 

Edouard,  aged  twenty,  and  a  male,  did  not  comprehend 
this  piece  of  feminine  logic  one  bit :  and,  while  he  puz- 
zled over  it  in  silence,  Jacintha  went  on  to  say  that  if 
she  were  to  fill  her  egotist's  paunch,  she  should  never 
know  whether  he  came  to  Beaurepaire  for  her,  or  him- 
self. "Now,  Dard,"  she  added,  "is  no  beauty,  monsieur; 
why,  he  is  three  inches  shorter  than  I  am." 

"  You  are  joking  !  he  looks  a  foot,"  said  Edouard. 

"  He  is  no  scholar  neither,  and  I  have  had  to  wipe  up 
many  a  sneer  and  many  a  sarcasm  on  his  account ;  but 
up  to  now  I  have  always  been  able  to  reply  that  this  live 
feet  one  of  egotism  loves  me  sincerely  ;  and  the  moment 
I  doubt  this,  I  give  him  the  sack,  —  poor  little  fel- 
low ! " 

"  In  a  word,"  said  Eiviere,  a  little  impatiently,  "  the 
family  at  Beaurepaire  are  not  in  such  straits  as  he  pre- 
tends ?  " 

"  Monsieur,  do  I  look  like  one  starved  ?  " 

"  By  Jove,  no  !  by  Ceres,  I  mean." 

"  Are  my  young  mistresses  wan,  and  thin  ?  " 

"  Treason  !  blasphemy  !  ah,  no !  By  Venus  and  Hebe, 
no!" 

Jacintha  smiled  at  this  enthusiastic  denial,  and  also 
because  her  sex  is  apt  to  smile  when  words  are  used  they 
do  not  understand. 

"  Dard  is  a  fool,"  suggested  Riviere,  by  way  of  general 
solution.  He  added,  "And  yet,  do  you  know  I  wish 
every  word  he  said  had  been  true."  (Jacintha's  eyes 
expressed  some  astonishment.)  "Because  then  you  and 
I  would  have  concerted  means  to  do  them  kindnesses, 


WHITE    LIES.  27 

secretly;  for  I  see  you  are  no  ordinary  servant;  you 
love  your  young  mistresses.     Do  you  not  ?  " 

These  simple  words  seemed  to  touch  a  grander  chord 
in  Jacintha's  nature. 

"  Love  them  ?  "  said  she,  clasping  her  hands ;  "  ah, 
sir,  do  not  be  offended;  but,  believe  me,  it  is  no  small 
thing  to  serve  an  old,  old  family.  My  grandfather  lived 
and  died  with  them ;  my  father  was  their  gamekeeper, 
and  fed  to  his  last  from  off  the  poor  baron's  j^late  (and 
now  they  have  killed  him,  poor  man) ;  my  mother  died 
in  the  house  and  was  buried  in  the  sacred  ground  near 
the  family  chapel.  They  put  an  inscription  on  her  tomb 
praising  her  fidelity  and  probity.  Do  you  think  these 
things  do  not  sink  into  the  heart  of  the  poor  ?  —  praise 
on  her  tomb,  and  not  a  word  on  their  own,  but  just  the 
name,  and  when  each  was  born  and  died,  you  know. 
Ah !  the  pride  of  the  mean  is  dirt ;  but  the  pride  of  the 
noble  is  gold." 

^  "  For,  look  you,  among  parveuues  I  should  be  a  ser- 
vant, and  nothing  more  ;  in  this  proud  family  I  am  a 
humble  friend  ;  of  course  they  are  not  always  gossiping 
with  me  like  vulgar  masters  and  mistresses  ;  if  they  did, 
I  should  neither  respect  nor  love  them ;  but  they  all 
smile  on  me  whenever  I  come  into  the  room,  even  the 
baroness  herself.  I  belong  to  them,  and  they  belong  to 
me,  by  ties  without  number,  by  the  many  kind  words  in 
many  troubles,  by  the  one  roof  that  sheltered  us  a  hun- 
dred years,  and  the  grave  where  our  bones  lie  together 
till  the  day  of  judgment." 

Jacintha  clasped  her  hands,  and  her  black  eyes  shone 
out  warm  through  the  dew.     Riviere's  glistened  too. 

1  The  French  peasant  often  thinks  half  a  sentence,  and  utters  tlie  other 
half  aloud,  and  so  breaks  air  in  the  middle  of  a  thought.  I'robably  Jacintha's 
whole  thouj^lit,  if  we  had  the  means  of  knowing  it,  would  have  run  like  this 
—  Besides,  I  have  another  reason:  I  couKl  not  be  so  comfortable  myself  else- 
wliere  —  for,  look  you  "  — 


28  WHITE   LIES. 

"  That  is  well  said,"  he  cried  ;  "  it  is  nobly  said  :  yet, 
after  all,  these  are  ties  that  owe  their  force  to  the  souls 
they  bind.  How  often  have  such  bonds  round  human 
hearts  proved  ropes  of  sand !  They  grapple  you  like 
hooks  of  steel ;  because  you  are  steel  yourself  to  the 
backbone.  I  admire  you,  Jacintha.  Such  women  as 
you  have  a  great  mission  in  France  just  now." 

Jacintha  shook  her  head  incredulously.  "  What  can 
we  poor  women  do  ?  " 

"  Bring  forth  heroes,"  cried  Publicola  Avith  fervor. 
"  Be  the  mothers  of  great  men,  the  Catos  and  the  Gracchi 
of  the  future  !  " 

Jacintha  smiled.  She  did  not  know  the  Gracchi  nor 
their  politics ;  but  the  name  rang  well.  "  Gracchi !  " 
Aristocrats,  no  doubt.  "  That  would  be  too  much 
honor,"  replied  she  modestly.  "  At  present,  T  must  say 
adieu ! "  and  she  moved  off  an  inch  at  a  time,  in  an 
uncertain  hesitating  manner,  not  very  difficult  to  read  ; 
but  Riviere,  you  must  know,  had  more  than  once  during 
this  interview  begged  her  to  sit  down,  and  in  vain  ;  she 
had  always  thanked  him,  but  said  she  had  not  a  moment 
to  stay.  So  he  made  no  effort  to  detain  her  now.  The 
consequence  was  —  she  came  slowly  back  of  her  own 
accord,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  porch,  where 
nobody  could  see  her,  and  then  she  sighed  deeply. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  Edouard,  opening 
his  eyes. 

She  looked  at  him  point-blank  for  one  moment ;  and 
her  scale  turned. 

"Monsieur,"  said  she  timidly,  "you  have  a  good  face, 
and  a  good  heart.  All  I  told  you  was  —  give  me  your 
honor  not  to  betray  us." 

"  I  swear  it,"  said  Edouard,  a  little  pompously. 

"  Then  —  Dard  was  not  so  far  from  the  truth ;  it  was 
but  a  guess  of  his,  for  I  never  trusted  my  own  sweet- 


WHITE   LIES.  29 

heart  as  I  now  trust  a  stranger.  But  to  see  what  I  see 
every  day,  and  have  no  one  I  dare  breathe  a  word  to,  oh, 
it  is  very  hard  !  But  on  what  a  thread  things  turn  !  If 
any  one  had  tokl  me  an  hour  ago  it  was  you  I  should 
open  my  heart  to  !  It's  not  economy :  it's  not  stinginess ; 
they  are  not  paying  ofi  their  debts.  They  never  can. 
The  baroness  and  the  Demoiselles  de  Beaurepaire  —  are 
paupers." 

"  Paupers,  Jacintha  ?  " 

"  Ay,  paupers !  their  debts  are  greater  than  their 
means.  They  live  here  by  sufferance.  The}'  have  only 
their  old  clothes  to  wear.  They  have  hardly  enough  to 
eat.  Just  now  our  cow  is  in  full  milk,  you  know  ;  so  that 
is  a  great  help  :  but,  when  she  goes  dry,  Heaven  knows 
what  we  shall  do;  for  I  don't.  But  that  is  not  the  worst ; 
better  a  light  meal  than  a  broken  heart.  Your  precious 
government  offers  the  chateau  for  sale.  They  might  as 
well  send  for  the  guillotine  at  once,  and  cut  off  all  our 
heads.  You  don't  know  my  mistress  as  I  do.  Ah, 
butchers,  you  will  drag  nothing  out  of  that  but  her 
corpse.  And  is  it  come  to  this  ?  the  great  old  family  to 
be  turned  adrift  like  beggars.  My  poor  mistress  !  my 
pretty  demoiselles  that  I  played  with  and  nursed  ever 
since  I  was  a  child  !  (I  was  just  six  when  Josephine  was 
born)  and  that  I  shall  love  with  my  last  breath  "  — 

She  could  say  no  more,  but  choked  by  the  strong  feel- 
ing so  long  pent  up  in  her  own  bosom,  fell  to  sobbing 
hysterically,  and  trembling  like  one  in  an  ague. 

The  statesman,  who  had  passed  all  his  short  life  at 
school  and  college,  was  frightened,  and  took  hold  of  her 
and  pulled  her,  and  cried,  "  Oh !  don't,  Jacintha ;  you 
will  kill  yourself,  you  will  die  ;  this  is  frightful :  help 
here  !  help  !  "  Jacintha  put  her  hand  to  his  mouth,  and, 
without  leaving  off  her  hysterics,  gasped  out,  "  Ah  !  don't 
expose  me."     So  then  he  didn't  know  what  to  do ;  but 


30  WHITE   LIES. 

he  seized  a  tumbler  and  filled  it  with  wine,  and  forced  it 
between  her  lips.  All  she  did  was  to  bite  a  piece  out  of 
the  glass  as  clean  as  if  a  diamond  had  cut  it.  This  did 
her  a  world  of  good :  destruction  of  sacred  household 
property  gave  her  another  turn.  "There,  I've  broke 
your  glass  now,"  she  cried,  with  a  marvellous  change  of 
tone ;  and  she  came-to  and  cried  quietly  like  a  reasonable 
person,  with  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

When  Edouard  saw  she  was  better,  he  took  her  hand 
and  said  proudly,  "  Secret  for  secret.  I  choose  this 
moment  to  confide  to  you  that  I  love  Mademoiselle  Rose 
de  Beaurepaire.  Love  her  ?  1  did  love  her ;  but  now 
you  tell  me  she  is  poor  and  in  distress,  I  adore  her." 
The  effect  of  this  declaration  on  Jacintha  was  magical, 
comical.  Her  apron  came  down  from  one  eye,  and  that 
eye  "dried  itself  and  sparkled  with  curiosity :  the  whole 
countenance  speedily  followed  suit  and  beamed  with 
sacred  joy.  What !  an  interesting  love  affair  confided 
to  her  all  in  a  moment !  She  lowered  her  voice  to  a 
whisper  directly.  "Why,  how  did  you  manage?  She 
never  goes  into  company." 

"No;  but  she  goes  to  church.  Besides,  I  have  met 
her  eleven  times  out  walking  with  her  sister,  and  twice 
out  of  the  eleven  she  smiled  on  me.  0  Jacintha!  a  smile 
such  as  angels  smile ;  a  smile  to  warm  the  heart  and 
purify  the  soul  and  last  forever  in  the  mind." 

"Well,  they  say  'man  is  fire  and  woman  tow:'  but 
this  beats  all.     Ha !  ha ! " 

"  Oh  !  do  not  jest.  I  did  not  laugh  at  you.  Jacintha, 
it  is  no  laughing  matter;  I  revere  her  as  mortals  revere 
the  saints;  I  love  her  so  that  were  I  ever  to  lose  all  hope 
of  her  I  would  not  live  a  day.  And  now  that  you  have 
told  me  she  is  poor  and  in  sorrow,  and  I  think  of  her 
walking  so  calm  and  gentle  —  always  in  black,  Jacintha, 
—  and  her  low  courtesy  to  me  whenever  we  met,  and  her 


WHITE   LIES.  31 

sweet  smile  to  me  though  her  heart  must  be  sad,  oh  ! 
my  heart  yearns  for  her.  What  can  I  do  for  her  ?  How 
shall  I  surround  her  with  myself  unseen  —  make  her 
feel  that  a  man's  love  waits  upon  her  feet  every  step  she 
takes  —  that  a  man's  love  floats  in  the  air  round  that 
lovely  head?"  Then  descending  to  earth  for  a  moment, 
"  but  I  say,  you  promise  not  to  betray  me  ;  come,  secret 
for  secret." 

"  I  will  not  tell  a  soul ;  on  the  honor  of  a  woman,"  said 
Jacintha. 

The  form  of  protestation  was  quite  new  to  Edouard, 
and  not  exactly  the  one  his  study  of  the  ancient  writers 
would  have  led  him  to  select.  But  the  tone  was  convinc- 
ing :  he  trusted  her.  They  parted  sworn  allies ;  and, 
at  the  very  moment  of  parting,  Jacintha,  who  had  cast 
many  a  furtive  glance  at  the  dead  game,  told  Edouard 
demurely,  Mademoiselle  Rose  was  very  fond  of  roast 
partridge.  On  this  he  made  her  take  the  whole  bag; 
and  went  home  on  wings.  Jacintha's  revelation  roused 
all  that  was  noble  and  forgiving  in  him.  His  under- 
standing and  his  heart  expanded  from  that  hour,  and 
his  fancy  spread  its  pinions  to  the  sun  of  love.  Ah ! 
generous  Youth,  let  who  will  betray  thee  ;  let  who  will 
sneer  at  thee ;  let  me,  though  young  no  longer,  smile  on 
thee  and  joy  in  thee  !  She  he  loved  was  sad,  was  poor, 
was  menaced  by  many  ills ;  then  she  needed  a  champion. 
He  would  be  her  unseen  friend,  her  guardian  angel.  A 
hundred  wild  schemes  whirled  in  his  beating  heart  and 
brain.  He  could  not  go  in-doors,  indeed,  no  room  could 
contain  him  :  he  made  for  a  green  lane  he  knew  at  the 
back  of  the  village,  and  there  he  walked  up  and  down 
for  hours.  The  sun  set,  and  the  night  came,  and  the 
stars  glittered ;  but  still  he  walked  alone,  inspired,  ex- 
alted, full  of  generous  and  loving  schemes :  of  sweet  and 
iender  fancies  :  a  heart  on  tire ;  and  youth  the  fuel,  and 
the  flame  vestal. 


32  WHITE  LIES. 


CHAPTER   III. 

This  very  day  was  the  anniversary  of  the  baron's 
death. 

The  baroness  kept  her  room  all  the  morning,  and  took 
no  nourishment  but  one  cup  of  spurious  coffee  Rose 
brought  her.  Towards  evening  she  came  down-stairs. 
In  the  hall  she  found  two  chaplets  of  flowers ;  they  were 
always  placed  there  for  her  on  this  sad  day.  She  took 
them  in  her  hand,  and  went  into  the  little  oratory  that 
was  in  the  park ;  there  she  found  two  wax  candles  burn- 
ing, and  two  fresh  chaplets  hung  up.  Her  daughters 
had  been  there  before  her. 

She  knelt  and  prayed  many  hours  for  her  husband's 
soul ;  then  she  rose  and  hung  up  one  chaplet  and  came 
slowly  away  with  the  other  in  her  hand.  At  the  gate  of 
the  park,  Josephine  met  her  with  tender  anxiety  in  her 
sapphire  eyes,  and  wreathed  her  arms  round  her,  and 
whispered,  "But  you  have  your  children  still." 

The  baroness  kissed  her  and  they  came  towards  the 
house  together,  the  baroness  leaning  gently  on  her  daugh- 
ter's elbow. 

Between  the  park  and  the  angle  of  the  chateau  was  a 
small  plot  of  turf  called  at  Beaurepaire  the  Pleasance,  a 
name  that  had  descended  along  with  other  traditions ; 
and  in  the  centre  of  this  Pleasance,  or  Pleasaunce,  stood 
a  wonderful  oak-tree.  Its  circumference  was  thirty-four 
feet.  The  baroness  came  to  this  ancient  tree,  and  liung 
her  chaplet  on  a  mutilated  limb  called  the  "knights' 
bough." 

The  sui\  was  setting  tranquil  and  red ;  a  broad  ruby 


WHITE    LIES.  33 

streak  lingered  on  the  deep  green  leaves  of  the  prodigious 
oak.     The  baroness  looked  at  it  awhile  in  silence. 

Then  she  spoke  slowly  to  it  and  said,  "  You  were  here 
before  us  :  you  will  be  here  when  we  are  gone." 

A  spasm  crossed  Josephine's  face,  but  she  said  nothing 
at  the  time.     And  so  they  went  in  together. 

Now  as  this  tree  was  a  feat  of  nature,  and,  above  all, 
played  a  curious  part  in  our  story,  I  will  ask  you  to  stay 
a  few  minutes  and  look  at  it,  while  I  say  what  was  known 
about  it ;  not  the  thousandth  part  of  what  it  could  have 
told,  if  trees  could  speak  as  well  as  breathe. 

The  baroness  did  not  exaggerate ;  the  tree  was  far 
older  than  even  this  ancient  family.  They  possessed 
among  other  archives  a  manuscript  written  by  a  monk, 
a  son  of  the  house,  about  four  hundred  years  before  our 
story,  and  containing  many  of  the  oral  traditions  about 
this  tree  that  had  come  down  to  him  from  remote  antiq- 
uity. According  to  this  authority,  the  first  Baron  of 
Beaurepaire  had  pitched  his  tent  under  a  fair  oak-tree 
that  stood  p}'ope  rivnm,  near  a  brook.  His  grandson  built 
a  square  tower  hard  by,  and  dug  a  moat  that  enclosed 
both  tree  and  tower,  and  received  the  waters  of  the  brook 
aforesaid. 

At  this  time  the  tree  seems  only  to  have  been  remarked 
for  its  height.  But,  a  century  and  a  half  before  the 
monk  wrote,  it  had  become  famous  in  all  the  district  for 
its  girth,  and  in  the  monk's  own  day  had  ceased  to  grow; 
but  not  begun  to  decay.  The  mutilated  arm  I  have  men- 
tioned was  once  a  long  sturdy  bough,  worn  smooth  as 
velvet  in  one  part  from  a  curious  cause  :  it  ran  about  as 
high  above  the  ground  as  a  full-sized  horse,  and  the 
knights  and  squires  used  to  be  forever  vaulting  upon  it, 
the  former  in  armor ;  the  monk,  when  a  boy,  had  seen 
them  do  it  a  thousand  times.  This  bough  broke  in  two, 
A.D.  1617 :  but  the  mutilated  limb  was  still  called  the 


34  WHITE   LIES. 

knights'  bough,  nobody  knew  why.  So  do  names  survive 
their  ideas. 

What  had  not  this  tree  seen  since  first  it  came  green 
and  tender  as  a  cabbage  above  the  soil,  and  stood  at  the 
mercy  of  the  first  hare  or  rabbit  that  should  choose  to 
cut  short  its  frail  existence  ! 

Since  then  eagles  had  perched  on  its  crown,  and  wild 
boars  fed  without  fear  of  man  upon  its  acorns.  Trouba- 
dours had  sung  beneath  it  to  lords  and  ladies  seated 
round,  or  walking  on  the  grass  and  commenting  the  min- 
strel's tales  of  love  by  exchange  of  amorous  glances. 
Medigeval  sculptors  had  taken  its  leaves,  and  wisely 
trusting  to  nature,  had  adorned  churches  with  those 
leaves  cut  in  stone. 

It  had  seen  a  Norman  duke  conquer  England,  and 
English  kings  invade  France  and  be  crowned  at  Paris. 
It  had  seen  a  girl  put  knights  to  the  rout,  and  seen  the 
warrior  virgin  burned  by  envious  priests  with  common 
consent  both  of  the  curs  she  had  defended  and  the  curs 
she  had  defeated. 

Why,  in  its  old  age  it  had  seen  the  rise  of  printing, 
and  the  first  dawn  of  national  civilization  in  Europe.  It 
flourished  and  decayed  in  France ;  but  it  sprung  in  Gaul. 
And  more  remarkable  still,  though  by  all  accounts  it  may 
see  the  world  to  an  end,  it  was  a  tree  in  ancient  history  : 
its  old  age  awaits  the  millennium ;  its  first  youth  belonged 
to  that  great  tract  of  time  which  includes  the  birth  of 
Christ,  the  building  of  Kome,  and  the  siege  of  Troy. 

The  tree  had,  ere  this,  mingled  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
family.  It  had  saved  their  lives  and  taken  their  lives. 
One  lord  of  Beaurepaire,  hotly  pursued  by  his  feudal 
enemies,  made  for  the  tree,  and  hid  himself  partly  by  a 
great  bough,  partly  by  the  thick  screen  of  leaves.  The 
foe  darted  in,  made  sure  he  had  taken  to  the  house,  ran- 
sacked it,  and  got  into  the  cellar,  where  by  good-luck  was 


WHITE  LIES.  35 

a  store  of  Malvoisie  :  and  so  the  oak  and  the  vine  saved 
the  quaking  baron.  Another  lord  of  Beaurepaire,  be- 
sieged in  his  castle,  was  shot  dead  on  the  ramparts  by  a 
cross-bowman  who  had  secreted  himself  unobserved  in 
this  tree  a  little  before  the  dawn. 

A  young  heir  of  Beaurepaire,  climbing  for  a  raven's 
nest  to  the  top  of  this  tree,  lost  his  footing  and  fell,  and 
died  at  its  foot :  and  his  mother  in  her  anguish  bade 
them  cut  down  the  tree  that  had  killed  her  boy.  But 
the  baron  her  husband  refused,  and  spake  in  this  wise  : 
"  ytte  ys  eneugh  that  I  lose  mine  sonne,  I  will  nat  alsoe 
lose  mine  Tre."  In  the  male  you  see  the  sober  sentiment 
of  the  proprietor  outweighed  the  temporary  irritation  of 
the  parent.  Then  the  mother  bought  iifteen  ells  of  black 
velvet,  and  stretched  a  pall  from  the  knights'  bough 
across  the  west  side  to  another  branch,  and  cursed  the 
hand  that  should  remove  it,  and  she  herself  "  wolde  never 
passe  the  Tre  neither  going  nor  coming,  but  went  still 
about."  And  when  she  died  and  should  have  been  car- 
ried past  the  tree  to  the  park,  her  dochter  did  cry  from  a 
window  to  the  bearers,  "  Goe  about !  goe  about ! "  and 
they  went  about,  and  all  the  company.  And  in  time  the 
velvet  pall  rotted,  and  was  torn  and  driven  away  by  the 
winds :  and  when  the  hand  of  Nature,  and  no  human 
hand,  had  thus  flouted  and  dispersed  the  trappings  of 
the  mother's  grief,  two  pieces  were  picked  up  and  pre- 
served among  the  family  relics  :  but  the  black  velvet  had 
turned  a  rusty  red. 

So  the  baroness  did  nothing  new  in  this  family  when 
she  hung  her  chaplet  on  the  knights'  bough  ;  and,  in  fact, 
on  the  west  side,  about  eighteen  feet  from  the  ground, 
there  still  mouldered  one  corner  of  an  Atchievement  an 
heir  of  Beaurepaire  had  nailed  there  two  centuries  before, 
when  his  predecessor  died  :  "For,''  said  he,  "the  chfiteau 
is  of  yesterday,  but  the  tree  has  seen  us  all  come  and  go.'' 


36  WHITE   LIES. 

The  inside  of  the  oak  was  liollow  as  a  drum  ;  and  on  its 
east  side  yawned  a  fissure  as  high  as  a  man  and  as  broad 
as  a  street-door.  Dard  used  to  wheel  his  wheelbarrow 
into  the  tree  at  a  trot,  and  there  leave  it. 

Yet  in  spite  of  excavation  and  mutilation  not  life  only 
but  vigor  dwelt  in  this  wooden  shell.  The  extreme  ends 
of  the  longer  boughs  were  firewood,  touchwood,  and  the 
crown  was  gone  this  many  a  year  :  but  narrow  the  circle 
a  very  little  to  where  the  indomitable  trunk  could  still 
shoot  sap  from  its  cruse  deep  in  earth,  and  there  on 
every  side  burst  the  green  foliage  in  its  season  countless 
as  the  sand.  The  leaves  carved  centuries  ago  from  these 
very  models,  though  cut  in  stone,  were  most  of  theni 
mouldered,  blunted,  notched,  deformed :  but  the  delicate 
types  came  back  with  every  summer,  perfect  and  lovely 
as  when  the  tree  was  but  their  elder  brother  :  and  greener 
than  ever  :  for,  from  what  cause  nature  only  knows,  the 
leaves  were  many  shades  richer  than  any  other  tree  could 
show  for  a  hundred  miles  round ;  a  deep  green,  fiery,  yet 
soft;  and  then  their  multitude  —  the  staircases  of  foliage 
as  you  looked  up  the  tree,  and  could  scarce  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  sky.  An  inverted  abyss  of  color,  a 
mound,  a  dome,  of  flake  emeralds  that  quivered  in  the 
golden  air. 

And  now  the  sun  sets ;  the  green  leaves  are  black ; 
the  moon  rises  :  her  cold  light  shoots  across  one  half 
that  giant  stem. 

How  solemn  and  calm  stands  the  great  round  tower 
of  living  wood,  half  ebony,  half  silver,  with  its  mighty 
cloud  above  of  flake  jet  leaves  tipped  with  frosty 
fire  ! 

Now  is  the  still  hour  to  repeat  in  a  whisper  the  words 
of  the  dame  of  Beaurepaire,  "  You  were  here  before  us  : 
you  will  be  here  when  we  are  gone." 

We   leave   the  hoary  king  of   trees  standing  in  the 


1 


WHITE   LIES.  37 

moonlight,  calmly  defying  time,  and  follow  the  creat- 
ures of  a  day ;  for,  what  they  were,  we  are, 

A  spacious  saloon  panelled ;  dead  but  snowy  white 
picked  out  sparingly  with  gold.  Festoons  of  fruits  and 
flowers  finely  carved  in  wood  on  some  of  the  panels. 
These  also  not  smothered  in  gilding,  but  as  it  were  gold 
speckled  here  and  there,  like  tongues  of  flame  winding 
among  insoluble  snow.  Ranged  against  the  walls  Avere 
sofas  and  chairs  covered  with  rich  stuffs  well  worn.  And 
in  one  little  distant  corner  of  the  long  room  a  gray-haired 
gentleman  and  two  young  ladies  sat  round  a  small  plain 
table,  on  which  burned  a  solitary  candle  ;  and  a  little  way 
apart  in  this  candle's  twilight  an  old' lady  sat  in  an  easy- 
chair,  thinking  of  the  past,  scarce  daring  to  inquire  the 
future.  Josephine  and  Rose  were  working  :  not  fancy- 
work  but  needle-work ;  Dr.  Aubertin  writing.  Every 
now  and  then  he  put  the  one  candle  nearer  the  girls. 
They  raised  no  objection :  only  a  few  minutes  after  a 
whit''  hand  would  glide  from  one  or  other  of  them  like 
a  serpent,  and  smoothly  convey  the  light  nearer  to  the 
doctor's  manuscript. 

"Is  it  not  supper-time?"  he  inquired.  "I  have  an 
inward  monitor ;  and  I  think  our  dinner  was  more  ethe- 
real than  usual." 

"Hush  !"  said  Josephine,  and  looked  uneasily  towards 
her  mother.     "  Wax  is  so  dear." 

"Wax?  —  ah!  —  pardon  me:"  and  the  doctor  returned 
hastily  to  his  work.  But  Rose  looked  up  and  said,  "  I 
wonder  Jacintha  does  not  come  ;  it  is  certainly  past  the 
hour ; "  and  she  pried  into  the  room  as  if  she  expected 
to  see  Jacintha  on  the  road.  But  she  saw  in  fact  very 
little  of  anything,  for  the  spacious  room  was  impenetra- 
ble to  her  eye  ;  midway  from  the  candle  to  the  distant 
door  its  twilight  deepened,  and  all  became  shapeless  and 


38  WHITE   LIES. 

sombre.  The  prospect  ended  sharp  and  black,  as  in 
those  out-o'-door  closets  imagined  and  painted  by  a  cer- 
tain great  painter,  whose  Nature  comes  to  a  full  stop  as 
soon  as  he  has  no  further  commercial  need  of  her,  instead 
of  melting  by  fine  expanse  and  exquisite  gradation  into 
genuine  distance,  as  nature  does  in  Claude  and  in  nature. 
To  reverse  the  picture,  if  you  stood  at  the  door  you 
looked  across  forty  feet  of  black,  and  the  little  corner 
seemed  on  fire,  and  the  fair  heads  about  the  candle  shone 
like  the  St.  Cecilias  and  Madonnas  in  an  antique  stained- 
glass  window. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  another  candle  fired 
Jacintha's  comely  peasant  face  in  the  doorway.  She 
put  down  her  candle  outside  the  door,  and  started  as 
crow  flies  for  the  other  light.  After  glowing  a  moment  in 
the  doorway  she  dived  into  the  shadow  and  emerged  into 
light  again  close  to  the  table  with  napkins  on  her  arm. 
She  removed  the  work-box  reverentially,  the  doctor's 
manuscript  unceremoniously,  and  proceeded  to  lay  a 
cloth  :  in  which  operation  she  looked  at  Rose  a  point- 
blank  glance  of  admiration  :  then  she  placed  the  nap- 
kins ;  and  in  this  process  she  again  cast  a  strange  look 
cf  interest  upon  Rose.  The  young  lady  noticed  it  this 
time,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  her  in  return,  half 
expecting  some  communication ;  but  Jacintha  lowered 
her  eyes  and  bustled  about  the  table.  Then  Rose  spoke 
to  her  with  a  soi't  of  instinct  of  curiosity,  on  the  chance 
of  drawing  her  out. 

"  Supper  is  late  to-night,  is  it  not,  Jacintha  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle ;  I  have  had  more  cooking  than 
usual,"  and  with  this  she  delivered  another  point-blank 
look  as  before,  and  dived  into  the  palpable  obscure,  and 
came  to  light  in  the  doorway. 

Her  return  was  anxiously  expected;  for,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  they  were  very  hungry.     So  rigorous  was 


WHITE   LIES.  39 

the  economy  in  this  decayed  but  lionorable  house  that 
the  wax  candles  burned  to-day  in  the  oratory  had  scrimped 
their  dinner,  unsubstantial  as  it  was  wont  to  be.  Think 
of  that,  you  in  fustian  jackets  who  grumble  after  meat. 
The  door  opened,  Jacintha  reappeared  in  the  light  of  her 
candle  a  moment  with  a  tray  in  both  hands,  and,  approach- 
ing, was  lost  to  view ;  but  a  strange  and  fragrant  smell 
heralded  her.  All  their  eyes  turned  with  curiosity  towards 
the  unwonted  odor,  and  Jacintha  dawned  with  three  roast 
partridges  on  a  dish. 

They  were  wonder-struck,  and  looked  from  the  birds 
to  her  in  mute  surprise,  that  was  not  diminished  by  a 
certain  cynical  indifference  she  put  on.  She  avoided 
their  eyes,  and  forcibly  excluded  from  her  face  every- 
thing that  could  imply  she  did  not  serve  up  partridges 
to  this  family  every  night  of  her  life. 

"The  supper  is  served,  madame,"  said  she,  with  a 
respectful  courtesy  and  a  mechanical  tone,  and,  plunging 
into  the  night,  swam  out  at  her  own  candle,  shut  the 
door,  and,  unlocking  her  face  that  moment,  burst  out 
radiant,  and  so  to  the  kitchen,  and,  with  a  tear  in  her 
eye,  set-to  and  polished  all  the  copper  stewpans  with 
a  vigor  and  expedition  unknown  to  the  new-fangled 
domestic. 

"  Partridges,  mamma !     What  next  ?  " 

"Pheasants,  I  hope,"  cried  the  doctor,  gayly.  "And 
after  them  hares ;  to  conclude  with  royal  venison.  Permit 
me,  ladies."     And  he  set  himself  to  carve  with  zeal. 

Now  nature  is  nature,  and  two  pair  of  violet  eyes 
brightened  and  dwelt  on  the  fragrant  and  delicate  food 
with  demure  desire ;  for  all  that,  when  Aubertin  offered 
Josephine  a  wing,  she  declined  it.  "  No  partridge  ? " 
cried  the  savant,  in  utter  amazement. 

"  Not  to-day,  dear  friend ;  it  is  not  a  feast  day  to-day  " 

"  Ah !  no ;  what  was  I  thinking  of  ?  " 


40  WHITE   LIES. 

"  But  you  are  not  to  be  deprived,"  put  in  Josephine, 
anxiously.  "  We  will  not  deny  ourselves  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  eat  some." 

"  What ! "  remonstrated  Aubertin,  ''  am  I  not  one  of 
you  ?  " 

The  baroness  had  attended  to  every  word  of  this.  She 
rose  from  her  chaii',  and  said  quietly,  "  Both  you  and  he 
and  Rose  will  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  see  you  eat." 

"But,  mamma,"  remonstrated  Josephine  and  Rose  in 
one  breath. 

"t/e  le  veiix,^^  was  the  cold  reply. 

These  were  words  the  baroness  uttered  so  seldom  that 
they  were  little  likely  to  be  disjmted. 

The  doctor  carved  and  helped  the  young  ladies  and 
himself. 

When  they  had  all  eaten  a  little,  a  discussion  was 
observed  to  be  going  on  between  Rose  and  her  sister. 
At  last  Aubertin  caught  these  words,  "  It  will  be  in  vain; 
even  you  have  not  influence  enough  for  that,  Rose." 

"  We  shall  see,"  was  the  reply,  and  Rose  put  the  wing 
of  a  partridge  on  a  plate  and  rose  calmly  from  her  chair. 
She  took  the  plate  and  put  it  on  a  little  work-table  by 
her  mother's  side.  The  others  pretended  to  be  all  mouths, 
but  they  were  all  ears.  The  baroness  looked  in  Rose's 
face  with  an  air  of  wonder  that  was  not  very  encouraging. 
Then,  as  Rose  said  nothing,  she  raised  her  aristocratic 
hand  with  a  courteous  but  decided  gesture  of  refusal. 

Undaunted  Rose  laid  her  palm  softly  on  the  baroness's 
shoulder,  and  said  to  her  as  firmly  as  the  baroness  her- 
self had  just  spoken, — 

'<  II  le  veuty 

The  baroness  was  staggered.  Then  she  looked  with 
moist  eyes  at  the  fair  young  face,  then  she  reflected.  At 
last  she  said,  with  an  exquisite  mixture  of  politeness  and 
affection,  "  It  is  his  daughter  who  has  told  me  '  II  le 
veut.'    I  obey." 


WHITE   LIES.  41 

Rose  returning  like  a  victorious  knight  from  the  lists, 
saucily  exultant,  and  with  only  one  wet  eyelash,  was 
solemnly  kissed  and  petted  by  Josephine  and  the  doctor. 

Thus  they  loved  one  another  in  this  great,  old,  falling 
house.  Their  familiarity  had  no  coarse  side ;  a  form, 
not  of  custom  but  affection,  it  went  hand-in-hand  with 
courtesy  by  day  and  night. 

The  love  of  the  daughters  for  their  mother  had  all  the 
tenderness,  subtlety,  and  unselfishness  of  womanly  na- 
tures, together  with  a  certain  characteristic  of  the  female 
character.  And  whither  that  one  defect  led  them,  and 
by  what  gradations,  it  may  be  worth  the  reader's  while 
to  observe. 

The  baroness  retired  to  rest  early  ;  and  she  was  no 
sooner  gone  than  Josephine  leaned  over  to  Rose,  and 
told  her  what  their  mother  had  said  to  the  oak-tree.  Rose 
heard  this  with  anxiety ;  hitherto  they  had  carefully  con- 
cealed from  their  mother  that  the  gov^ernment  claimed 
the  right  of  selling  the  chateau  to  pay  the  creditors,  etc. ; 
and  now  both  sisters  feared  the  old  lady  had  discovered 
it  somehow,  or  why  that  strange  thing  she  had  said  to 
the  oak-tree  ?  But  Dr.  Aubertin  caught  their  remarks, 
and  laid  down  his  immortal  MS.  on  French  insects,  to 
express  his  hope  that  they  were  putting  a  forced  inter- 
pretation on  the  baroness's  words. 

"I  think,"  said  he,  "she  merely  meant  how  short-lived 
are  we  all  compared  with  this  ancient  oak.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  adopt  the  other  interpretation ;  for  if  she 
knows  she  can  at  any  moment  be  expelled  from  Beau- 
repaire,  it  will  be  almost  as  bad  for  her  as  the  calamity 
itself;  that,  I  think,  would  kill  her." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  said  Rose,  eagerly.  "  What  is  this  house 
or  that  ?  Mamma  will  still  have  her  daughters'  love,  go 
where  she  will." 

Aubertin  replied^  "It  is  idle  to  deceive  ourselves;  at 


42  WHITE   LIES. 

her  age  men  and  women  hang  to  life  by  their  habits ; 
take  her  away  from  her  chateau,  from  the  little  oratory 
where  she  prays  every  day  for  the  departed,  from  her 
place  in  the  sun  on  the  south  terrace,  and  from  all  the 
memories  that  surround  her  here ;  she  would  soon  pine, 
and  die." 

Here  the  savant  seeing  a  hobby-horse  near,  caught  him 
and  jumped  on.  He  launched  into  a  treatise  upon  the 
vitality  of  human  beings,  and  proved  that  it  is  the  mind 
which  keeps  the  body  of  a  man  alive  for  so  great  a  length 
of  time  as  fourscore  years ;  for  that  he  had  in  the  earlier 
part  of  his  studies  carefully  dissected  a  multitude  of  ani- 
mals, —  frogs,  rabbits,  dogs,  men,  horses,  sheep,  squirrels, 
foxes,  cats,  etc.,  —  and  discovered  no  peculiarity  in  man's 
organs  to  account  for  his  singular  longevity,  except  in 
the  brain  or  organ  of  mind.  Thence  he  went  to  the 
longevity  of  men  with  contented  minds,  and  the  rapid 
decay  of  the  careworn.  Finally  he  succeeded  in  convinc- 
ing them  the  baroness  was  so  constituted,  physically 
and  mentally,  that  she  would  never  move  from  Beau- 
repaire  except  into  her  grave.  However,  having  thus 
terrified  them,  he  proceeded  to  console  them.  "  You 
have  a  friend,"  said  he,  "  a  powerful  friend ;  and  here  in 
my  pocket  —  somewhere  —  is  a  letter  that  proves  it." 

The  letter  was  from  Mr.  Perrin  the  notary.  It  appeared 
by  it  that  Dr.  Aubertin  had  reminded  the  said  Perrin  of 
his  obligations  to  the  late  baron,  and  entreated  him  to 
use  all  his  influence  to  keep  the  estate  in  this  ancient 
family. 

Perrin  had  replied  at  first  in  a  few  civil  lines ;  but  his 
present  letter  was  a  long  and  friendly  one.  It  made  both 
the  daughters  of  Beaurepaire  shudder  at  the  peril  they 
had  so  narrowly  escaped.  For  by  it  they  now  learned 
for  the  first  time  that  one  Jaques  Bonard,  a  small  farmer, 
to  whom  they  owed  but  five  thousand  francs,  had  gone 


WHITE    LIES.  43 

to  the  mayor  and  insisted,  as  lie  had  a  perfect  right,  on 
the  estate  being  pnt  up  to  public  auction.  This  had 
come  to  Perrin's  ears  just  in  time,  and  he  had  instantly 
bought  Bouard's  debt,  and  stopped  the  auction ;  not,  how- 
ever, before  the  very  bills  were  printed ;  for  which  he, 
Perrin,  had  paid,  and  now  forwarded  the  receipt.  He 
concluded  by  saying  that  the  government  agent  was  per- 
sonally inert,  and  would  never  move  a  step  in  the  matter 
unless  driven  by  a  creditor. 

"  But  we  have  so  many,"  said  Kose  in  dismay.  "  We 
are  not  safe  a  day." 

Aubertin  assured  her  the  danger  was  only  in  appear- 
ance. "Your  large  creditors  are  men  of  property,  and 
such  men  let  their  funds  lie  unless  compelled  to  move 
them.  The  small  mortgagee,  the  petty  miser,  wlio  has, 
perhaps,  no  investment  to  watch  but  one  small  loan, 
about  Avhich  he  is  as  anxious  and  as  noisy  as  a  hen  with 
one  chicken,  he  is  the  clamorous  creditor,  the  harsh  little 
egoist,  who  for  fear  of  risking  a  crown  piece  would  bring 
the  Garden  of  Eden  to  the  hammer.  Now  we  are  rid  of 
that  little  wretch,  Bonard,  and  have  Perrin  on  our  side ; 
so  there  is  literally  nothing  to  fear." 

The  sisters  thanked  him  warmly,  and  Rose  shared  his 
hopes ;  and  said  so ;  but  Josephine  was  silent  and 
thoughtful.  Nothing  more  worth  recording  passed  that 
night.  But  the  next  day  was  the  first  of  May,  Josephine's 
birthday. 

Now  they  always  celebrated  this  day  as  well  as  they 
could;  and  used  to  plant  a  tree,  for  one  thing.  Dard, 
well  spurred  by  Jacintha,  had  got  a  little  acacia;  and 
they  were  all  out  in  the  Pleasaunce  to  plant  it.  Un- 
happily, they  were  a  preposterous  time  making  up  their 
feminine  minds  where  to  have  it  set ;  so  Dard  turned 
rusty  and  said  the  park  was  the  best  place  for  it.  There 
it  could  do  no  harm,  stick  it  where  you  would. 


44'  WHITE    LIES. 

"  And  wlio  told  you  to  put  iu  your  word  ?"  inquired 
Jacintha.  "  You're  here  to  dig  the  hole  where  madem'^i- 
selle  chooses ;  not  to  argufy." 

Josephine  whispered  Rose,  "  I  admire  the  energy  of 
her  character.  Could  she  be  induced  to  order  once  for 
all  where  the  poor  thing  is  to  be  planted  ?  " 

"  Then  where  will  you  have  it,  mademoiselle  ?  "  asked 
Dard,  sulkily. 

"  Here,  I  think,  Dard,"  said  Josephine  sweetly. 

Dard  grinned  malignantly,  and  drove  in  his  spade. 
''  It  will  never  be  much  bigger  than  a  stinging  nettle," 
thought  he,  "  for  the  roots  of  the  oak  have  sucked  every 
atom  of  heart  out  of  this."  His  black  soul  exulted 
secretly. 

Jacintha  stood  by  Dard,  inspecting  his  work ;  the 
sisters  intertwined,  a  few  feet  from  him.  The  baroness 
turned  aside,  and  went  to  look  for  a  moment  at  the 
chaplet  she  had  placed  yesterday  on  the  oak-tree  bough. 
Presently  she  uttered  a  slight  ejaculation ;  and  her 
daughters  looked  up  directly. 

"  Come  here,  children,"  said  she.  They  glided  to  her 
in  a  moment ;  and  found  her  eyes  fixed  upon  an  object 
that  lay  on  the  knights'  bough. 

It  was  a  sparkling  purse. 

I  dare  say  you  have  noticed  that  the  bark  on  the 
boughs  of  these  very  ancient  trees  is  as  deeply  furrowed 
as  the  very  stem  of  an  oak  tree  that  boasts  but  a  few 
centuries  ;  and  in  one  of  these  deep  furrows  lay  a  green 
silk  purse  with  gold  coins  glittering  through  the  gloss}' 
meshes. 

Josephine  and  Rose  eyed  it  a  moment  like  startled 
deer  ;  then  Rose  pounced  on  it.  "  Oh,  how  heavy  ! "  she 
cried.  This  brought  up  Dard  and  Jacintha,  in  time  to 
see  Rose  pour  ten  shining  gold  pieces  out  of  the  purse 
into  her  pink-white  palm,  while  her  face  flushed  and  her 


WHITE  LIES.  45 

eyes  glittered  with  excitement.  Jacintha  gave  a  scream 
of  joy ;  "  Our  luck  is  turned,"  she  cried,  superstitiously. 
Meanwhile,  Josephine  had  found  a  slip  of  paper  close 
to  the  purse.  She  opened  it  with  nimble  fingers ;  it 
contained  one  line  in  a  hand  like  that  of  a  copying 
clerk :  From  a  friend  :  in  part  payment  of  a  great 

DEBT. 

Keen,  piquant  curiosity  now  took  the  place  of  surprise. 
Who  could  it  be  ?  The  baroness's  suspicion  fell  at  once 
on  Dr.  Aubertin.  But  Eose  maintained  he  had  not  ten 
gold  pieces  in  the  world.  The  baroness  appealed  to 
Josephine.  She  only  blushed  in  an  extraordinary  way, 
and  said  nothing.  They  puzzled,  and  puzzled,  and  were 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever,  when  lo !  one  of  the  sus- 
pected parties  delivered  himself  into  the  hands  of  justice 
with  ludicrous  simplicity.  It  happened  to  be  Dr.  Auber- 
tin's  hour  of  out-a-door  study;  and  he  came  mooning 
along,  buried  in  a  book,  and  walked  slowly  into  the 
group  —  started,  made  a  slight  apology,  and  was  moon- 
ing off,  lost  in  his  book  again.  Then  the  baroness,  who 
had  eyed  him  with  grim  suspicion  all  the  time,  said  with 
well-affected  nonchalance,  "Doctor,  you  dropped  your 
purse;  we  have  just  picked  it  up."  And  she  handed  it 
to  him.  "Thank  you,  madame,"  said  he,  and  took  it 
quietly  without  looking  at  it,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and 
retired,  with  his  soul  in  his  book.  They  stared  comically 
at  one  another,  and  at  this  cool  hand.  "  It's  no  more  his 
than  it's  mine,"  said  Jacintha,  bluntly.  Kose  darted 
after  the  absorbed  student,  and  took  him  captive.  "Now, 
doctor,"  she  cried,  "be  pleased  to  come  out  of  the 
clouds."  And  with  the  word  she  whipped  the  purse  out 
of  his  coat  pocket,  and  holding  it  right  up  before  his  eye, 
insisted  on  his  telling  her  whether  that  was  his  purse  or 
not,  money  and  all.  Thus  adjured,  he  disowned  the 
property  mighty  coolly,  for  a  retired  ])hysician,  who  had 
just  pocketed  it. 


46  WHITE   LIES. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  he  ;  "  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  I 
have  not  carried  a  purse  this  twenty  years." 

The  baroness,  as  a  last  resource,  appealed  to  his  lionor 
whether  he  had  not  left  a  purse  and  paper  on  the  knights' 
bough.  The  question  had  to  be  explained  by  Josephine, 
and  then  the  doctor  surprised  them  all  by  being  rather 
affronted  —  for  once  in  his  life. 

''Baroness,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  your  friend  and 
pensioner  nearly  twenty  years ;  if  by  some  strange  chance 
money  were  to  come  into  my  hands,  I  should  not  play 
you  a  childish  trick  like  this.  What !  have  I  not  the 
right  to  come  to  you,  and  say,  *  My  old  friend,  here  I 
bring  you  back  a  very  small  part  of  all  I  owe  you  ? ' " 

"  What  geese  we  are,"  remarked  Rose.  "  Dear  doctor, 
you  tell  us  who  it  is." 

Dr.  Aubertin  reflected  a  single  moment ;  then  said  he 
could  make  a  shrewd  guess. 

"  Who  ?  who  ?  who  ?  "  cried  the  whole  party. 

"Perrin  the  notary." 

It  was  the  baroness's  turn  to  be  surprised ;  for  there 
was  nothing  romantic  about  Perrin  the  notary.  Auber- 
tin, however,  let  her  know  that  he  was  in  private  com- 
munication with  the  said  Perrin,  and  this  was  not  the 
first  friendly  act  the  good  notary  had  done  her  in  secret. 

While  he  was  converting  the  baroness  to  his  view, 
Josephine  and  Eose  exchanged  a  signal,  and  slipped 
away  round  an  angle  of  the  chateau. 

"■  Who  is  it  V  "  said  Rose. 

*'  It  is  some  one  who  has  a  delicate  mind." 

"  Clearly,  and  therefore  not  a  notary." 

"Rose,  dear,  might  it  not  be  some  person  who  has 
done  us  some  wrong,  and  is  perhaps  penitent  ?  '* 

"  Certainly  ;  one  of  our  tenants,  or  creditors,  you  mean  ; 
but  then,  the  paper  says  'a  friend.'  Stay,  it  says  a 
debtor.     Why  a  debtor  ?     Down  with  enigmas  ! " 


WHITE    LIES.  47 

"Roes,  love,"  said  Josephine,  coaxingly,  "think  of 
some  one  that  might  —  since  it  is  not  the  doctor,  nor 
Monsieur  Perrin,  might  it  not  be  —  for  after  all,  he 
would  naturally  be  ashamed  to  appear  before  me." 

"  Before  you  ?  Who  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Rose 
nervously,  catching  a  glimpse  now, 

"  He  who  once  pretended  to  love  me." 

"  Josephine,  you  love  that  man  still." 

"  No,  no.     Spare  me  ! " 

"You  love  him  just  the  same  as  ever.  Oh,  it  is  won- 
derful ;  it  is  terrible ;  the  power  he  has  over  you ;  over 
your  judgment  as  well  as  your  heart." 

"  No !  for  I  believe  he  has  forgotten  my  very  name ; 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Dear  Josephine,  can  you  doubt  it  ?  Come,  you  do 
doubt  it." 

"  Sometimes." 

"  But  why  ?  for  what  reason  ?  " 

"  Because  of  what  he  said  to  me  as  we  parted  at  that 
gate ;  the  words  and  the  voice  seem  still  to  ring  like 
truth  across  the  weary  years.  He  said,  'I  am  to  join 
the  army  of  the  Pyrenees,  so  fatal  to  our  troops;  but 
say  to  me  what  you  never  yet  have  said,  Camille,  I  love 
you :  and  I  swear  I  will  come  back  alive.'  So  then  I 
said  to  him,  'I  love  you,'  —  and  he  never  came  back." 

"  How  could  he  come  here  ?  a  deserter,  a  traitor ! " 

"  It  is  not  true ;  it  is  not  in  his  nature ;  inconstancy 
may  be.  Tell  me  that  he  never  really  loved  me,  and  I 
will  believe  you ;  but  not  that  he  is  a  traitor.  Let  me 
weep  over  my  past  love,  not  blush  for  it." 

"  Past  ?  You  love  him  to-day  as  you  did  three  years 
ago." 

"  No,"  said  Josephine,  "  no ;  I  love  no  one.  I  never 
shall  love  any  one  again." 

"But  him.     It  is  that  love  which  turns  your  heart 


48  WHITE   LIES. 

against  others.  Oh,  yes,  you  love  him,  dearest,  or  why 
shouhl  you  fancy  our  secret  benefactor  could  be  that 
Camille  ?  " 

"Why?  Because  I  was  mad:  because  it  is  impossi- 
ble ;  but  I  see  my  folly.     I  am  going  in." 

"  What !  don't  you  care  to  know  who  /  think  it  was, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"■  No,"  said  Josephine  sadly  and  doggedly ;  she  added 
with  cold  nonchalance,  "I  dare  say  time  will  show." 
And  she  went  slowly  in,  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"  Her  birthday ! "  sighed  Rose, 

The  donor,  whoever  he  was,  little  knew  the  pain  he 
was  inflicting  on  this  distressed  but  proud  family,  or  the 
hard  battle  that  ensued  between  their  necessities  and 
their  delicacy.  The  ten  gold  pieces  were  a  perpetual 
temptation :  a  daily  conflict.  The  words  that  accompa- 
nied the  donation  offered  a  bait.  Their  pride  and  dig- 
nity declined  it ;  but  these  bright  bits  of  gold  cost  them 
many  a  sharp  pang.  You  must  know  that  Josephine 
and  Rose  had  worn  out  their  mourning  by  this  time  ; 
and  were  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  gayer  materials 
that  lay  in  their  great  wardrobes,  and  were  older,  but 
less  worn.  A  few  of  these  gold  pieces  would  have 
enabled  the  poor  girls  to  be  neat,  and  yet  to  mourn 
their  father  openly.  And  it  went  through  and  through 
those  tender,  simple  hearts,  to  think  that  they  must  be 
disunited,  even  in  so  small  a  thing  as  dress ;  that  while 
their  mother  remained  in  her  weeds,  they  must  seem  no 
longer  to  share  her  woe. 

The  baroness  knew  their  feeling,  and  felt  its  piety, 
and  yet  could  not  bow  her  dignity  to  say,  "Take  five 
of  these  bits  of  gold,  and  let  us  all  look  what  we  are  — 
one."  Yet  in  this,  as  in  everything  else,  they  supported 
each  other.  They  resisted,  they  struggled,  and  with  a 
wrench  they  conquered  day  by  day.     At  last,  by  general 


WHITE    LIES.  49 

consent,  Josephine  locked  up  the  tempter,  and  they 
looked  at  it  no  more.  But  the  little  bit  of  paper  met  a 
kinder  fate.  Rose  made  a  little  frame  for  it,  and  it  was 
kept  in  a  drawer,  in  the  salon :  and  often  looked  at  and 
blessed.  Just  when  they  despaired  of  human  friendship, 
this  paper  with  the  sacred  word  ''  friend  "  written  on  it, 
had  fallen  all  in  a  moment  on  their  aching  hearts. 

They  could  not  tell  whence  it  came,  this  blessed  word. 

But  men  dispute  whence  comes  the  dew  ? 

Then  let  us  go  with  the  poets,  who  say  it  comes  from 
heaven. 

And  even  so  that  sweet  word,  friend,  dropped  like  the 
dew  from  heaven  on  these  afflicted  ones. 

So  they  locked  the  potent  gold  away  from  themselves, 
and  took  the  kind  slip  of  paper  to  their  hearts. 

The  others  left  off  guessing :  Aubertin  had  it  all  his 
own  way :  he  upheld  Perrin  as  their  silent  benefactor,  and 
bade  them  all  observe  that  the  worthy  notary  had  never 
visited  the  cluUeau  openly  since  the  day  the  purse  was 
left  there.     "  Guilty  conscience,"  said  Aubertin  dryly. 

One  day  in  his  walks  he  met  a  gaunt  figure  ambling 
on  a  fat  pony :  he  stopped  him,  and,  holding  up  his 
finger,  said  abruptly,  "We  have  found  you  out,  Maitre 
Perrin." 

The  notary  changed  color. 

"Oh,  never  be  ashamed,"  said  Aubertin;  "a  good 
action  done  slyly  is  none  the  less  a  good  action." 

The  notary  wore  a  puzzled  air. 

Aubertin  admired  his  histrionic  powers  in  calling  up 
this  look. 

"Come,  come,  don't  overdo  it,"  said  he.  "Well,  well ; 
they  cannot  profit  by  your  liberality  ;  but  you  will  be 
rewarded  in  a  better  world,  take  my  word  for  that." 

The  notary  muttered  indistinctly.  He  was  a  man  of 
moderate  desires  ;  would  have  been  quite  content  if  there 
4 


50  WHITE   LIES. 

had  been  no  other  world  in  perspective.  He  had  studied 
this  one,  and  made  it  pay  :  did  not  desire  a  better;  some- 
tijnes  feared  a  worse. 

"Ah!"  said  Aubertin,  "I  see  how  it  is;  we  do  not 
like  to  hear  ourselves  praised,  do  we  ?  When  shall  we 
see  you  at  the  chateau  ?  " 

"  I  propose  to  call  on  the  baroness  the  moment  I  have 
good  news  to  bring,"  replied  Perrin  ;  and  to  avoid  any 
more  compliments  spurred  the  dun  pony  suddenly ;  and 
he  waddled  away. 

Now  this  Perrin  was  at  that  moment  on  the  way  to 
dine  with  a  character  who  plays  a  considerable  part  in 
the  tale  —  Commandant  Raynal.  Perrin  had  made  him- 
self useful  to  the  commandant,  and  had  become  his  legal 
adviser.  And,  this  very  day  after  dinner,  the  comman- 
dant having  done  a  good  day's  work  permitted  himself  a 
little  sentiment  over  the  bottle,  and  to  a  man  he  thought 
his  friend.  He  let  out  that  he  had  a  heap  of  money  he 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with,  and  almost  hated  it  now 
his  mother  was  gone  and  could  not  share  it. 

The  man  of  law  consoled  him  with  oleaginous  phrases : 
told  him  he  very  much  underrated  the  power  of  money. 
His  hoard,  directed  by  a  judicious  adviser,  would  make 
him  a  landed  proprietor,  and  the  husband  of  some  young 
lady,  all  beauty,  virtue,  and  accomplishment,  whose 
soothing  influence  would  soon  heal  the  sorrow  caused 
by  an  excess  of  filial  sentiment. 

"  Halt !  "  shouted  Raynal :  "  say  that  again  in  half  the 
words." 

Perrin  was  nettled,  for  he  prided  himself  on  his  collo- 
quial style. 

"  You  can  buy  a  fine  estate  and  a  chaste  wife  with  the 
money,"  snapped  this  smooth  personage,  substituting 
curt  brutality  for  honeyed  prolixity. 

The  soldier  was  struck  by  the  propositions  the  moment 
they  flew  at  him  small  and  solid,  like  bullets. 


WHITE   LIES.  61 

"  I've  no  time,"  said  he,  "  to  be  running  after  women. 
But  the  estate  I'll  certainly  have,  because  you  can  get 
that  for  me  without  my  troubling  my  head." 

"  Is  it  a  commission,  then  ?  "  asked  the  other  sharply. 

"  Of  course.  Do  you  think  I  speak  for  the  sake  of 
talking  ?  " 

And  so  Perrin  received  formal  instructions  to  look  out 
for  a  landed  estate ;  and  he  was  to  receive  a  handsome 
commission  as  agent. 

Now  to  settle  this  affair,  and  pocket  a  handsome  per- 
centage for  himself,  he  had  only  to  say  "  Beaurepaire." 

Well,  he  didn't.  Never  mentioned  the  place ;  nor  the 
fact  that  it  was  for  sale. 

Such  are  all  our  agents,  when  rival  speculators.  Mind 
that.  Still  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  so  completely  in 
the  power  of  any  man  of  the  world,  as  from  this  hour 
Beaurepaire  was  in  the  power  of  Perrin  the  notary. 


62  WHITE   LIES, 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Edouard  Riviere  was  unhappy.  She  never  came 
out  now.  This  alone  made  the  days  dark  to  him.  And 
then  he  began  to  fear  it  was  him  she  shunned.  She 
must  have  seen  him  lie  in  wait  for  her ;  and  so  she 
would  come  out  no  more.  He  prowled  about  and  con- 
trived to  fall  in  with  Jacintha;  he  told  her  his  grief. 
She  assured  him  the  simple  fact  was  their  mourning  was 
worn  out,  and  they  were  ashamed  to  go  abroad  in  colors. 
This  revelation  made  his  heart  yearn  still  more. 

"  0  Jacintha,"  said  he,  "  if  I  could  only  make  a  begin- 
ning ;  but  here  we  might  live  a  century  in  the  same 
parish,  and  not  one  chance  for  a  poor  wretch  to  make 
acquaintance." 

Jacintha  admitted  this,  and  said  gentlefolks  were  to 
be  pitied.  "  Why,  if  it  was  the  likes  of  me,  you  and  I 
should  have  made  friends  long  before  nov/." 

Jacintha  herself  was  puzzled  what  to  do ;  she  would 
have  told  Rose  if  she  had  felt  sure  it  would  be  well 
received ;  but  she  could  not  find  out  that  the  young  lady 
had  even  noticed  the  existence  of  Edouard.  But  her 
brain  worked,  and  lay  in  wait  for  an  opportunity. 

One  came  sooner  than  she  expected.  One  morning  at 
about  six  o'clock,  as  she  came  home  from  milking  the 
cow,  she  caught  sight  of  young  Riviere  trying  to  open 
the  iron  gate.  "  What  is  up  now  ?  "  thought  she ;  sud- 
denly the  truth  flashed  upon  her,  clear  as  day.  She  put 
her  pail  down  and  stole  upon  him.  "  You  want  to  leave 
us  another  purse,"  said  she.  He  colored  all  over  and 
panted. 


WHITE    LIES.  53 

'■*  How  did  3'ou  know  ?  how  could  you  know  ?  you 
won't  betray  me  ?  you  won't  be  so  cruel  ?  you  prom- 
ised." 

"  Me  betray  you,"  said  Jacintha ;  "  why,  I'll  help  you ; 
and  then  they  Avill  be  able  to  buy  mourning,  you  know, 
and  then  they  will  come  out,  and  give  you  a  chance. 
You  can't  open  that  gate,  for  it's  locked.  But  you  come 
round  to  the  lane,  and  I'll  get  you  the  key ;  it  is  hanging 
up  in  the  kitchen." 

The  key  was  in  her  pocket.  But  the  sly  jade  wanted 
him  away  from  that  gate ;  it  commanded  a  view  of  the 
Pleasaunce.  He  Avas  no  sooner  safe  in  the  lane,  than 
she  tore  up-stairs  to  her  young  ladies,  and  asked  them 
with  affected  calm  whether  they  would  like  to  know  who 
left  the  purse. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  I "  screamed  Rose. 

"  Then  come  with  me.  You  are  dressed  ;  never  mind 
your  bonnets,  or  you  will  be  too  late." 

Questions  poured  on  her ;  but  she  waived  all  explana- 
tion, and  did  not  give  them  time  to  think,  or  Josephine, 
for  one,  she  knew  would  raise  objections.  She  led  the 
way  to  the  Pleasaunce,  and,  when  she  got  to  the  ances- 
tral oak,  she  said  hurriedl}^  "  Now,  mesdemoiselles,  hide 
in  there,  and  as  still  as  mice.  You'll  soon  know  who 
leaves  the  purses." 

With  this  she  scudded  to  the  lane,  and  gave  Edouard 
the  key.  "  Look  sharp,"  said  she,  "  before  they  get  up ; 
it's  almost  their  dressing  time." 

''  You'' II  soon  know  who  leaves  the  purses  !  " 

Curiosity,  delicious  curiosity,  thrilled  our  two  daugh- 
ters of  Eve. 

This  soon  began  to  alternate  with  chill  misgivings  at 
the  novelty  of  the  situation. 

"  She  is  not  coming  back,"  said  Josephine  ruefully. 

"  No,"  said  Rose,  '•  and  suppose  when  we  pounce  out 
On  him,  it  should  be  a  stranger." 


54  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Pounce  on  him  ?  surcjly  we  are  not  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  y-yes ;  that  is  the  p-p-pvogramme,"  quaverea 
Rose. 

A  key  grated,  and  the  iron  gate  creaked  on  its  hinges. 
They  ran  together  and  pinched  one  another  for  mutual 
support,  but  did  not  dare  to  speak. 

Presently  a  man's  shadow  came  slap  into  the  tree. 
They  crouched  and  quivered,  and  expected  to  be  caught 
instead  of  catching,  and  wished  themselves  safe  back  in 
bed,  and  all  this  a  nightmare,  and  no  worse. 

At  last  they  recovered  themselves  enough  to  observe 
that  this  shadow,  one  half  of  which  lay  on  the  ground, 
while  the  head  and  shoulders  went  a  little  way  up  the 
wall  of  the  tree,  represented  a  man's  profile,  not  his 
front  face.  The  figure,  in  short,  was  standing  between 
them  and  the  sun,  and  was  contemplating  the  chateau, 
not  the  tree. 

The  shadow  took  off  its  hat  to  Josephine,  in  the  tree. 
Then  would  she  have  screamed  if  she  had  not  bitten 
her  white  hand  instead,  and  made  a  red  mark  thereon. 

It  wiped  its  brow  with  a  handkerchief ;  it  had  walked 
fast,  poor  thing  !     The  next  moment  it  was  away. 

They  looked  at  one  another  and  panted.  They  scarcely 
dared  do  it  before.  Then  Rose,  with  one  hand  on  her 
heaving  bosom,  shook  her  little  white  fist  viciously  at 
where  the  figure  must  be,  and  perhaps  a  comical  desire 
of  vengeance  stimulated  her  curiosity.  She  now  glided 
through  the  fissure  like  a  cautious  panther  from  her 
den ;  and  noiseless  and  supple  as  a  serpent  began  to  wind 
slowly  round  the  tree.  She  soon  came  to  a  great  protu- 
berance in  the  tree,  and  twining  and  peering  round  it 
with  diamond  eye,  she  saw  a  very  young,  very  hand- 
some gentleman,  stealing  on  tiptoe  to  the  nearest  flower- 
bed. Then  she  saw  him  take  a  purse  out  of  his  bosom, 
and  drop  it  on  the  bed.     This  done,  he  came  slowly  past 


WHITE   LIES.  65 

the  tree  again,  and  was  even  heard  to  vent  a  little  inno- 
cent chuckle  of  intense  satisfaction  :  but  of  brief  dura- 
tion ;  for,  when  Rose  saw  the  purse  leave  his  hand,  she 
made  a  rapid  signal  to  Josephine  to  wheel  round  the 
other  side  of  the  tree,  and,  starting  together  with  admir- 
able concert,  both  the  daughters  of  Beaurepaire  glided 
into  sight  with  a  vast  appearance  of  composure. 

Two  women  together  are  really  braver  than  fifteen 
separate;  but  still,  most  of  this  tranquillity  was  merely 
put  on,  but  so  admirably  that  Edouard  Riviere  had 
no  chance  with  them.  He  knew  nothing  about  their 
tremors  ;  all  he  saw  or  heard  was,  a  rustle,  then  a  flap 
on  each  side  of  him  as  of  great  wings,  and  two  lovely 
women  were  upon  him  with  angelic  swiftness.  "  Ah ! " 
he  cried  out  with  a  start,  and  glanced  from  the  first- 
comer,  Rose,  to  the  gate.  But  Josephine  was  on  that 
side  by  this  time,  and  put  up  her  hand,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  You  can't  pass  here."  In  such  situations,  the 
mind  works  quicker  than  lightning.  He  took  off  his 
hat,  and  stammered  an  excuse  —  "  Come  to  look  at  the 
oak."  At  this  moment  Rose  pounced  on  the  purse,  and 
held  it  up  to  Josephine.  He  was  caught.  His  only 
chance  now  was  to  bolt  for  the  mark  and  run ;  but  it 
Avas  not  the  notary,  it  was  a  novice  who  lost  his  presence 
of  mind,  or  perhaps  thought  it  rude  to  run  when  a  lady 
told  him  to  stand  still.  All  he  did  was  to  crush  his  face 
into  his  two  hands,  round  which  his  cheeks  and  neck 
now  blushed  red  as  blood.  Blush  ?  they  could  both  see 
the  color  rush  like  a  wave  to  the  very  roots  of  his  luiir 
and  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

The  moment  our  heroines,  who,  in  that  desperation 
which  is  one  of  the  forms  of  cowardice,  had  hurled 
themselves  on  the  foe,  saw  this,  flash  —  the  quick-witted 
poltroons  exchanged  purple  lightning  over  Edouard'a 
drooping  head,  and  enacted  lionesses  in  a  moment. 


56  WHITK   LIES. 

It  was  with  the  quiet  composure  of  lofty  and  powerful 
natures  that  Josephine  opened  on  him.  "  Compose 
yourself,  sir ;  and  be  so  good  as  to  tell  us  who  you  are." 
Edouard  must  answer.  Now  he  could  not  speak  through 
his  hands ;  and  he  could  not  face  a  brace  of  tranquil 
lionesses :  so  he  took  a  middle  course,  removed  one 
hand,  and  shading  himself  from  Josephine  with  the 
other,  he  gasped  out,  "  I  am  —  my  name  is  Riviere ;  and 
I_I_ladies!" 

"I  am  afraid  we  frighten  you,"  said  Josephine, 
demurely. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Rose,  majestically ;  "  we 
are  not  very  angry,  only  a  little  curious  to  know  why  you 
water  our  flowers  with  gold." 

At  this  point-blank  thrust,  and  from  her,  Edouard  was 
so  confounded  and  distressed,  they  both  began  to  pity 
him.  He  stammered  out  that  he  was  so  confused  he  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  He  couldn't  think  how  ever  he 
could  have  taken  such  a  liberty ;  might  he  be  permitted 
to  retire  ?  and  with  this  he  tried  to  slip  away. 

"Let  me  detain  you  one  instant,"  said  Josephine, 
and  made  for  the  house. 

Left  alone  so  suddenly  with  the  culprit,  the  dignity, 
and  majesty,  and  valor  of  Rose  seemed  to  ooze  gently 
out;  and  she  stood  blushing,  and  had  not  a  word  to  say; 
no  more  had  Edouard.  But  he  hung  his  head,  and  she 
hung  her  head.  And,  somehow  or  other,  whenever  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  glance  at  him,  he  raised  his  to  steal  a 
look  at  her,  and  mutual  discomfiture  resulted. 

This  awkward,  embarrassing  delirium  was  interrupted 
by  Josephine's  return.  She  now  held  another  purse  in 
her  hand,  and  quietly  poured  the  rest  of  the  coin  into  it. 
She  then,  with  a  blush,  requested  him  to  take  back  the 
money. 

At  that  he  found  his  tongue.     "No,  no,"  he  cried,  and 


WHITE   LIES.  57 

put  up  his  hands  in  supplication.  "Ladies,  do  let  nie 
speak  one  word  to  you.  Do  not  reject  my  friendship. 
You  are  alone  in  the  world ;  your  father  is  dead ;  your 
mother  has  but  you  to  lean  on.  After  all,  I  am  your 
neighbor,  and  neighbors  should  be  friends.  And  I  am 
yoiir  debtor;  I  owe  you  more  than  you  could  ever  owe 
me ;  for  ever  s.ince  I  came  into  this  neighborhood  I  have 
been  happy.  No  man  was  ever  so  happy  as  I,  ever  since 
one  day  I  was  walking,  and  met  for  the  first  time  an 
angel.  I  don't  say  it  was  you,  Mademoiselle  Eose.  It 
might  be  Mademoiselle  Josephine." 

"  How  pat  he  has  got  our  names,"  said  Rose,  smiling. 

"A  look  from  that  angel  has  made  me  so  good,  so 
happy.  I  used  to  vegetate,  but  now  I  live.  Live !  I 
walk  on  wings,  and  tread  on  roses.  Yet  you  insist  on 
declining  a  few  miserable  louis  d'or  from  him  who  owes 
you  so  much.  "Well,  don't  be  angry  ;  I'll  take  them  back, 
and  throw  them  into  the  nearest  pond,  for  they  are  really 
no  use  to  me.  But  then  you  will  be  generous  in  your 
turn.  You  will  accept  my  devotion,  my  services.  You 
have  no  brother,  you  know ;  well,  I  have  no  sisters ;  let 
me  be  your  brother,  and  your  servant  forever." 

At  all  this,  delivered  in  as  many  little  earnest  pants 
as  there  were  sentences,  the  water  stood  in  the  fair  eyes 
he  was  looking  into  so  piteously. 

Josephine  was  firm,  but  angelical.  "We  thank  you, 
IVIonsieur  Riviere,"  said  she,  softly,  "for  showing  us 
that  the  world  is  still  embellished  with  hearts  like 
yours.  Here  is  the  money ;  "  and  she  held  it  out  in  her 
creamy  hand. 

"  But  we  are  very  grateful,"  put  in  Rose,  softly  and 
earnestly. 

"  That  we  are,"  said  Josephine,  "  and  we  beg  to  keep 
the  purse  as  a  souvenir  of  one  who  tried  to  do  us  a  kind- 
ness without  mortifying  us.  And  now.  Monsieur  Riviere, 
you  will  permit  us  to  bid  you  adieu." 


58  WHITE   LIES. 

Eclouard  was  obliged  to  take  the  hint.  "  It  is  I  who 
am  the  intruder,"  said  he.  "  Mesdemoiselles,  conceive, 
if  you  can,  my  pride  and  my  disappointment."  He  then 
bowed  low ;  they  courtesied  low  to  him  in  return ;  and  he 
retired  slowly  in  a  state  of  mixed  feeling  indescribable. 

With  all  their  sweetness  and  graciousness,  he  felt 
overpowered  by  their  high  breeding,  their  reserve,  and 
their  composure,  in  a  situation  that  had  set  his  heart 
beating  itself  nearly  out  of  his  bosom.  He  acted  the 
scene  over  again,  only  much  more  adroitly,  and  concocted 
speeches  for  past  use,  and  was  very  hot  and  very  cold 
by  turns. 

I  wish  he  could  have  heard  what  passed  between  the 
sisters  as  soon  as  ever  he  was  out  of  earshot.  It  would 
have  opened  his  eyes,  and  given  him  a  little  peep  into 
what  certain  writers  call  "  the  sex." 

"  Poor  boy,"  murmured  Josephine,  ''  he  has  gone  away 
unhappy." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  he  hasn't  gone  far,"  replied  Rose, 
gayly.     "  /  shouldn't  if  I  was  a  boy." 

Josephine  held  up  her  finger  like  an  elder  sister ;  then 
went  on  to  say  she  really  hardly  knew  why  she  had  dis- 
missed him. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Rose,  dryly,  "  since  you  admit  so 
much,  I  must  say  I  couldn't  help  thinking  —  while  you 
were  doing  it  —  we  were  letting  '  the  poor  boy '  off  ridicu- 
lously cheap." 

"  At  least  I  did  my  duty  ? "  suggested  Josephine, 
inquiringly. 

"  Magnificently ;  you  overawed  even  me.  So  now  to 
business,  as  the  gentlemen  say.  Wliich  of  us  two  takes 
him  ?  " 

"  Takes  whom  ? "  inquired  Josephine,  opening  her 
lovely  eyes. 

*'  Edouard,"  murmured  Rose,  lowering  hers. 


WHITE    LIES.  59 

Josephine  glared  on  tlie  lovely  minx  with  wonder  and 
comical  horror. 

"Oh!  you  shall  have  him,"  said  Rose,  "if  you  like. 
You  are  the  eldest,  you  know." 

u  Y{q  ! " 

"  Do  now ;  to  oblige  me." 

"  For  shame  !  Rose.     Is  this  you  ?  talking  like  that !  " 

"Oh!  there's  no  compulsion,  dear;  I  never  force 
young  ladies'  inclinations.     So  you  decline  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  decline  him." 

"Then,  oh,  you  dear,  darling  Josephine,  this  is  the 
prettiest  present  you  ever  made  me,"  and  she  kissed  her 
vehemently. 

Josephine  was  frightened  now.  She  held  Rose  out  at 
arm's  length  with  both  hands,  and  looked  earnestly  into 
her,  and  implored  her  not  to  play  with  fire.  "  Take 
warning  by  me." 

Rose  recommended  her  to  keep  her  pity  for  Monsieur 
Riviere,  "  who  had  fallen  into  nice  hands,"  she  said. 
That  no  doubt  might  remain  on  that  head,  she  whispered 
mysteriously,  but  with  much  gravity  and  conviction,  "  I 
am  an  Imp ; "  and  aimed  at  Josephine  with  her  fore- 
finger to  point  the  remark.  For  one  second  she  stood 
and  watched  this  important  statement  sink  into  her 
sister's  mind,  then  set-to  and  gambolled  elfishly  round 
her  as  she  moved  stately  and  thoughtful  across  the  grass 
to  the  chateau. 

Two  days  after  this  a  large  tree  was  blown  down  in 
Beaurepaire  park,  and  made  quite  a  gap  in  the  prospect. 
You  never  know  what  a  big  thing  a  leafy  tree  is  till  it 
comes  down.  And  this  ill  wind  blew  Edouard  good ;  for 
it  laid  bare  the  chateau  to  his  inquiring  telescope.  He 
had  not  gazed  above  half  an  hour,  when  a  female  figure 
emerged  from  the  chateau.  His  heart  beat.  It  was  only 
Jacintha.     He  saw  her  look  this  way  and  that,  and  pres 


60  WHFTK    LIES. 

ently  Dard  appeared,  and  slie  sent  him  with  his  axe  to 
the  fallen  tree.  Edouard  watched  him  hacking  away  at 
it.  Presently  his  heart  gave  a  violent  leap ;  for  why  ? 
two  ladies  emerged  from  the  Pleasaunce  and  walked 
across  the  park.  They  came  up  to  Dard,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  the  tree  and  Dard  hacking  it,  and  Edouard  watched 
them  greedily.  You  know  we  all  love  to  magnify  her  we 
love.  And  this  was  a  delightful  way  of  doing  it.  It  is 
"  a  system  of  espionage  "  that  prevails  under  every  form 
of  government.  How  he  gazed,  and  gazed,  on  his  now 
polar  star;  studied  every  turn,  every  gesture,  with  eager 
delight,  and  tried  to  gather  what  she  said,  or  at  least  the 
nature  of  it. 

But  by  and  by  they  left  Dard  and  strolled  towards  the 
other  end  of  the  park.  Then  did  our  astronomer  fling 
down  his  tube,  and  come  running  out  in  hopes  of  inter- 
cepting them,  and  seeming  to  meet  them  by  some  strange 
fortuity.  Hope  whispered  he  should  be  blessed  with  a 
smile ;  perhaps  a  word  even.  So  another  minute  and  he 
was  running  up  the  road  to  Beaurepaire.  But  his  good 
heart  was  doomed  to  be  diverted  to  a  much  humbler 
object  than  his  idol ;  as  he  came  near  the  fallen  tree  he 
heard  loud  cries  for  help,  followed  by  groans  of  pain. 
He  bounded  over  the  hedge,  and  there  was  Dard  hanging 
over  his  axe,  moaning.  "  What  is  the  matter?  what  is 
the  matter  ?  "  cried  Edouard,  running  to  him. 

«  Oh  !  oh  !  cut  my  foot.     Oh  ! " 

Edouard  looked,  and  turned  sick,  for  there  was  a  gash 
right  through  Dard's  shoe,  and  the  blood  welling  up 
through  it.  But,  recovering  himself  by  an  effort  of  the 
will,  he  cried  out,  "  Courage,  my  lad  !  don't  give  in. 
Thank  Heaven  there's  no  artery  there.  Oh,  dear,  it  is  a 
terrible  cut !  Let  us  get  you  home,  that  is  the  first 
thing.     Can  you  walk  ?  " 

"  Lord  bless  you,  no  !  nor  stand  neither  without  help." 


WHITE    LIES.  6J 

Edouai'd  flew  to  the  wheelbarrow,  and,  reversing  it, 
spun  a  lot  of  billet  out.  "Ye  must  not  do  that,"  said 
Dard  with  all  the  energy  he  was  capable  of  in  his  present 
condition.  "  Why,  that  is  Jacintha's  wood."  —  "  To  the 
devil  with  Jacintha  and  her  wood  too  !  "  cried  Edouard, 
"  a  man  is  worth  mure  than  a  fagot.  Come,  I  shall 
wheel  you  home  :  it  is  only  just  across  the  park." 

With  some  difficulty  he  lifted  him  into  the  barrow. 
Luckily  he  had  his  shooting-jacket  on  with  a  brandy- 
flask  in  it:   he  administered  it  with  excellent  effect. 

The  ladies,  as  they  walked,  saw  a  man  wheeling  a 
barrow  across  the  park,  and  took  no  particular  notice  ; 
but,  as  Riviere  was  making  for  the  same  point  they  were, 
though  at  another  angle,  presently  the  barrow  came  near 
enough  for  them  to  see  Dard's  head  and  arms  in  it. 
Rose  was  the  first  to  notice  this.  "  Look  !  look  !  if  he 
is  not  wheeling  Dard  in  the  barrow  now." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Can  you  ask  ?     Who  provides  all  our  excitement  ?  " 

Josephine  instantly  divined  there  was  something  amiss. 
"  Consider,"  said  she,  "  Monsieur  Riviere  would  not 
wheel  Dard  all  across  the  park  for  amusement." 

Rose  assented;  and  in  another  minute,  by  a  strange 
caprice  of  fate,  those  Edouard  had  come  to  intercept, 
quickened  their  pace  to  intercept  him.  As  soon  as  he 
saw  their  intention  he  thrilled  all  over,  but  did  not 
slacken  his  pace.  He  told  Dard  to  take  his  coat  and 
throw  it  over  his  foot,  for  here  were  the  young  ladies 
coming. 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  Dard  sulkily.  "  No  !  let  them  see 
what  they  have  done  with  their  little  odd  jobs :  this  is 
iny  last  for  one  while.  I  sha'n't  go  on  two  legs  again 
this  year." 

The  ladies  came  up  with  them. 

"  0  monsieur!"  said  Joseohine,  '•  what  is  the  matter?  " 


62  WHITE   LIES. 

*'  We  have  met  with  a  little  accident,  mademoiselle, 
that  is  all.  Dard  has  hurt  his  foot ;  nothing  to  speak  of, 
but  I  thought  he  would  be  best  at  home." 

Kose  raised  the  coat  which  Riviere,  in  spite  of  Dard, 
had  flung  over  his  foot. 

"  He  is  bleeding !  Dard  is  bleeding !  Oh,  my  poor 
Dard.     Oh !  oh  !  " 

"  Hush,  Rose  !  " 

"  No,  don't  put  him  out  of  heart,  mademoiselle.  Take 
another  pull  at  the  flask,  Dard.  If  you  please,  ladies,  I 
must  have  him  home  without  delay." 

"  Oh  yes,  but  I  want  him  to  have  a  surgeon,"  cried 
Josephine.  "  And  we  have  no  horses  nor  people  to  send 
off  as  we  used  to  have." 

"  But  you  have  me,  mademoiselle,"  said  Edouard  ten- 
derly. "  Me,  who  would  go  to  the  world's  end  for  you." 
He  said  this  to  Josephine,  but  his  eye  sought  Rose. 
"  I'm  a  famous  runner,"  he  added,  a  little  bumptiously ; 
"  I'll  be  at  the  town  in  half  an  hour,  and  send  a  surgeon 
up  full  gallop." 

"  You  have  a  good  heart,"  said  Rose  simply. 

He  bowed  his  blushing,  delighted  face,  and  wheeled 
Dard  to  his  cottage  hard  by  with  almost  more  than 
mortal  vigor.  Hoav  softly,  how  nobly,  that  frolicsome 
girl  could  speak  !  Those  sweet  words  rang  in  his  ears 
and  ran  warm  round  and  round  his  heart,  as  he  straight- 
ened his  arms  and  his  back  to  the  w^ork.  When  they 
had  gone  about  a  hundred  yards,  a  single  snivel  went  off 
in  the  wheelbarrow.  Five  minutes  after,  Dard  was  at 
home  in  charge  of  his  grandmother,  his  shoe  off,  his 
foot  in  a  wet  linen  cloth ;  and  Edouard,  his  coat  tied 
round  the  neck,  squared  his  shoulders,  and  ran  the  two 
short  leagues  out.  He  ran  them  in  forty  minutes,  found 
the  surgeon  at  home,  told  the  case,  pooh-poohed  that 
worthy's  promise  to  go  to  the  patient  presently,  darted 


WHITE   LIES.  63 

into  bis  stable,  saddled  tbe  borse,  brougbt  bim  round, 
saw  tbe  surgeon  into  tbe  saddle,  started  bim,  dined  at 
tbe  restaurateur's,  strolled  back,  and  was  in  time  to  get 
a  good  look  at  the  chateau  of  Beaurepaire  just  as  tbe 
sun  set  on  it. 

Jacintba  came  into  Dard's  cottage  that  evening. 

"  So  you  have  been  at  it,  my  man,"  cried  she  cheer- 
fully and  rather  roughly,  then  sat  down  and  rocked  her- 
self, with  her  apron  over  her  bead.  She  explained  this 
anomalous  proceeding  to  bis  grandmother  privately.  "I 
thought  I  would  keep  bis  heart  up  anyway,  but  you  see 
I  was  not  fit." 

Next  morning,  as  Riviere  sat  writing,  be  received  an 
unexpected  visit  from  Jacintba.  She  came  in  with  her 
finger  to  her  lips,  and  said,  "You  prowl  about  Dard's 
cottage.  They  are  sure  to  go  and  see  bim  every  day, 
and  him  wounded  in  their  service." 

"  Ob,  you  good  girl !  you  dear  girl ! "  cried  Edouard. 

She  did  not  reply  in  words,  but,  after  going  to  the 
door,  returned  and  gave  bim  a  great  kiss  without  cere- 
mon3^  "  Dare  say  you  know  what  that's  for,"  said  she, 
and  went  off  with  a  clear  conscience  and  reddish  cheeks. 

Dard's  grandmother  had  a  little  house,  a  little  land, 
a  little  money,  and  a  little  cow.  She  could  just  main- 
tain Dard  and  herself,  and  her  resources  enabled  Dard 
to  do  so  many  little  odd  jobs  for  love,  yet  keep  his  main 
organ  tolerably  filled. 

"  Go  to  bed,  my  little  son,  since  you  have  got  hashed," 
said  she.  —  "  Bed  be  banged,"  cried  he.  "  What  good  is 
bed  ?  That's  a  silly  old  custom  wants  doing  away  with. 
It  weakens  you  :  it  turns  you  into  train  oil :  it  is  tbe 
doctor's  friend,  and  tbe  sick  man's  bane.  Many  a  one 
dies  through  taking  to  bed,  that  could  have  kept  his 
life  if  he  bad  kept  his  feet  like  a  man.  If  I  bad  cut 
myself  in  two  I  would  not  go  to  bed,  —  till  I  go  to  tbe 


6^4  WHITE    LIES. 

bed  with  a  spade  in  it.  No  !  sit  up, like  Julius  Cicsar; 
and  die  as  you  lived,  in  your  clothes :  don't  strip  your- 
self: let  the  old  women  strip  you;  that  is  their  delight 
laying  out  a  chap  ;  that  is  the  time  they  brighten  up,  the 
old  sorceresses."  He  concluded  this  amiable  rhapsody, 
the  latter  part  of  which  was  levelled  at  a  lugubrious 
weakness  of  his  grandmother's  for  the  superfluous  em- 
bellishment of  the  dead,  by  telling  her  it  was  bad 
enough  to  be  tied  by  the  foot  like  an  ass,  without  settling 
down  on  his  back  like  a  cast  sheep.  "  Give  me  the  arm- 
chair. I'll  sit  in  it,  and,  if  I  have  any  friends,  they  will 
show  it  now  :  they  will  come  and  tell  me  what  is  going 
on  in  the  village,  for  I  can't  get  out  to  see  it  and  hear 
it,  they  must  know  that." 

Seated  in  state  in  his  granny's  easy-chair,  the  loss  of 
which  after  thirty  years'  use  made  her  miserable,  she 
couldn't  tell  why,  le  Sieur  Dard  awaited  his  friends. 

They  did  not  come. 

The  rain  did,  and  poured  all  the  afternoon.  Night 
succeeded,  and  solitude.  Dard  boiled  over  with  bitter- 
ness. "  They  are  a  lot  of  pigs  then,  all  those  fellows  I 
have  drunk  with  at  Bigot's  and  Simmet's.  Down  with 
all  fair-weather  friends." 

The  next  day  the  sun  shone,  the  air  was  clear,  and  the 
sky  blue.     "  Ah  !  let  us  see  now,"  cried  Dard. 

Alas  !  no  fellow-drinkers,  no  fellow-smokers,  came  to 
console  their  hurt  fellow.  And  Dard,  who  had  boiled 
with  anger  yesterday,  was  now  sad  and  despondent. 
''  Down  with  egotists,"  he  groaned. 

About  three  in  the  afternoon  came  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"Ah!  at  last,"  cried  Dard:  "come  in!" 

The  door  was  slowly  opened,  and  two  lovely  faces 
appeared  at  the  threshold.  The  demoiselles  De  Beaure- 
paire  wore  a  tender  look  of  interest  and  pity  when  they 
caught  sight  of  Dard,  and  on  the  old  woman  courtesying 


WHITE   LIES.  65 

to  them  they  courtesied  to  her  and  Dard.  The  next 
moment  they  were  close  to  him,  one  a  little  to  his  right, 
the  other  to  his  left,  and  two  pair  of  sapphire  eyes  with 
the  mild  lustre  of  sympathy  playing  down  incessantly 
upon  him.  How  was  he  ?  How  had  he  slept  ?  Was 
he  in  pain  ?  "Was  he  in  much  pain  ?  tell  the  truth  now. 
Was  there  anything  to  eat  or  drink  he  could  fancy  ? 
Jacintha  should  make  it  and  bring  it,  if  it  was  within 
their  means.  A  prince  could  not  have  had  more  solicitous 
attendants,  nor  a  fairy  king  lovelier  and  less  earthly  ones. 
He  looked  in  heavy  amazement  from  one  to  the  other. 
Rose  bent,  and  was  by  some  supple  process  on  one  knee, 
taking  the  measure  of  the  wounded  foot.  When  she  first 
approached  it  he  winced :  but  the  next  moment  he  smiled. 
He  had  never  been  touched  like  this  —  it  was  contact 
and  no  contact  —  she  treated  his  foot  as  the  zephyr  the 
violets  —  she  handled  it  as  if  it  had  been  some  sacred 
thing.  By  the  help  of  his  eye  he  could  just  know  she 
was  touching  him.  Presently  she  informed  him  he  was 
measured  for  a  list  shoe :  and  she  would  run  home  for 
the  materials.  During  her  absence  came  a  timid  tap  to 
the  door ;  and  Edouard  Riviere  entered.  He  was  delighted 
to  see  Josephine,  and  made  sure  Rose  was  not  far  off. 
It  was  Dard  who  let  out  that  she  was  gone  to  Beaure- 
paire  for  some  cloth  to  make  him  a  shoe.  This  informa- 
tion set  Edouard  fidgeting  on  his  chair.  He  saw  such  a 
chance  as  was  not  likely  to  occur  again.  He  rose  with 
feigned  nonchalance^  and  saying,  "  I  leave  you  in  good 
hands ;  angel  visitors  are  best  enjoyed  alone,"  slowly 
retired,  with  a  deep  obeisance.  Once  outside  the  door, 
dignity  vanished  in  alacrity ;  he  flew  off  into  the  park, 
and  ran  as  hard  as  he  could  towards  the  chateau.  He 
was  within  fifty  yards  of  the  little  gate,  when  sure 
enough  Rose  emerged.  They  met;  his  heart  beat  vio- 
lently.    "  Mademoiselle,"  he  faltered. 


66  WHITE   LIES. 

"Ah!  it  is  Monsieur  Kiviere,  I  declare,"  said  Rose, 
coolly ;  all  over  blushes  though. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,  and  I  am  so  out  of  breath. 
Mademoiselle  Josephine  awaits  you  at  Dard's  house." 

"  She  sent  you  for  me  ?  "  inquired  Rose,  demurely. 

"Not  positively.  But  I  could  see  I  should  please  her 
by  coming  for  you ;  there  is,  I  believe,  a  bull  or  so  about." 

"A  bull  or  two !  don't  talk  in  that  reckless  way  about 
such  things.  She  has  done  well  to  send  you ;  let  us  make 
haste." 

"  But  I  am  a  little  out  of  breath." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that !     I  abhor  bulls." 

"  But,  mademoiselle,  we  are  not  come  to  them  yet,  and 
the  faster  we  go  now  the  sooner  we  shall." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  always  like  to  get  a  disagreeable  thing 
over  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Rose,  slyl}'. 

'•Ah,"  replied  Edouard,  mournfully,  "in  that  case  let 
us  make  haste." 

After  a  little  spurt,  mademoiselle  relaxed  the  pace  of 
her  own  accord,  and  even  went  slower  than  before.  There 
was  an  awkward  silence.  Edouard  eyed  the  park  bound- 
ary, and  thought,  "  Now  what  I  have  to  say  I  must  say 
before  we  get  to  you;"  and  being  thus  impressed  with 
the  necessity  of  immediate  action,  he  turned  to  lead. 

Rose  eyed  him  and  the  ground,  alternately,  from  under 
her  long  lashes. 

At  last  he  began  to  color  and  flutter.  She  saw  some- 
thing was  coming,  and  all  the  woman  donned  defensive 
armor. 

"  Mademoiselle." 

"  Monsieur." 

"  Is  it  quite  decided  that  your  family  refuse  my  ac- 
quaintance, my  services,  which  I  still  —  forgive  me  — 
press  on  you  ?  Ah  !  Mademoiselle  Rose,  am  I  never  to 
have  the  happiness  of  —  of  —  even  speaking  to  you  ?  " 


WHITE   LIES.  6T 

"It  seems  so,"  said  Rose,  ironically. 

"Have  you  then  decided  against  me  too?" 

"  I  ?  "  asked  Rose.  "  What  have  I  to  do  with  questions 
of  etiquette  ?     I  am  only  a  child :  so  considered  at  least." 

"  You  a  child  —  an  angel  like  you  ?  " 

"  Ask  any  of  them,  they  will  tell  you  I  am  a  child ; 
and  it  is  to  that  I  owe  this  conversation,  no  doubt ;  if 
you  did  not  look  on  me  as  a  child,  you  would  not  take 
this  liberty  with  me,"  said  the  young  cat,  scratching 
Avithout  a  moment's  notice. 

"  Mademoiselle,  do  not  be  angry,     I  was  wrong." 

"  Oh  !  never  mind.  Children  are  little  creatures  with- 
out reserve,  and  treated  accordingly,  and  to  notice  them 
is  to  honor  them." 

"Adieu  then,  mademoiselle.  Try  to  believe  no  one 
respects  you  more  than  I  do." 

"  Yes,  let  us  part,  for  there  is  Dard's  house ;  and  I 
begin  to  suspect  that  Josephine  never  sent  you." 

"  I  confess  it." 

"There,  he  confesses  it.  I  thought  so  all  along;  ivhat 
a  dupe  I  have  been  !  " 

"  I  will  offend  no  more,"  said  poor  silly  Edouard. 
"Adieu,  mademoiselle.  May  you  find  friends  as  sincere 
as  I  am,  and  more  to  your  taste  ! " 

"  Heaven  hear  your  prayers  ! "  replied  the  malicious 
thing,  casting  up  her  eyes  with  a  mock  tragic  air. 

Edouard  sighed;  a  chill  conviction  that  she  was  both 
heartless  and  empty  fell  on  him.  He  turned  away  with- 
out another  word.  She  called  to  him  with  a  sudden  airy 
cheerfulness  that  made  him  start.  "  Stay,  monsieur,  I 
forgot  —  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  you." 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  that : "  and  his  eyes  brightened. 

Rose  stopped,  and  began  to  play  with  her  parasol. 
"You  seem,"  said  she  softly,  "to  be  pretty  generous  in 
bestowing  your  acquaintance  on  strangers.     I  should  be 


68  WHITE   LIES. 

glad  if  I  might  secure  you  for  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  Dr. 
Aubertin.  He  will  not  discredit  my  recommendation; 
and  he  will  not  make  so  many  difficulties  as  we  do ;  shall 
I  tell  you  why  ?  Because  he  is  really  worth  knowing. 
In  short,  believe  me,  it  will  be  a  valuable  acquaintance 
for  you  —  and  for  him,"  added  she  with  all  the  grace  of 
the  De  Beaurepaires. 

Many  a  man,  inferior  in  a  general  way  to  Edouard 
Riviere,  would  have  made  a  sensible  reply  to  this.  Such 
as,  "  Oh,  any  friend  of  yours,  mademoiselle,  must  be  wel- 
come to  me,"  or  the  like.  But  the  proposal  caught 
Edouard  on  his  foible,  his  vanity,  to  wit;  and  our  foibles 
are  our  manias.  He  was  mortified  to  the  heart's  core. 
"  She  refuses  to  know  me  herself,"  thought  he,  "  but  she 
will  use  my  love  to  make  me  amuse  that  old  man." 
His  heart  swelled  against  her  injustice  and  ingratitude, 
and  his  crushed  vanity  turned  to  strychnine.  "  Made- 
moiselle," said  he,  bitterly  and  doggedly,  but  sadly,  "were 
I  so  happy  as  to  have  your  esteem,  my  heart  would  over- 
flow, not  only  on  the  doctor  but  on  every  honest  person 
around.  But  if  I  must  not  have  the  acquaintance  I 
value  more  than  life,  suffer  me  to  be  alone  in  the  world, 
and  never  to  say  a  word  either  to  Dr.  Aubertin,  or  to  any 
human  creature  if  I  can  help  it." 

The  imperious  young  beauty  drew  herself  up  directly. 
"  So  be  it,  monsieur ;  you  teach  me  how  a  child  should 
be  answered  that  forgets  herself,  and  asks  a  favor  of  a 
stranger  —  a  perfect  stranger,"  added  she,  maliciously. 

Could  one  of  the  dog-days  change  to  mid-winter  in  a 
second,  it  would  hardly  seem  so  cold  and  cross  as  Rose 
de  Beaurepaire  turned  from  the  smiling,  saucy  fairy  of 
the  moment  before.  Edouard  felt  as  it  were  a  portcullis 
of  ice  come  down  between  her  and  him.  She  courtesied 
and  glided  away.     He  bowed  and  stood  frozen  to  the  spot. 

He  felt  so  lonely  and  so  bitter,  he  must  go  to  Jacintha 
for  comfort. 


WHITE   LIES.  G9 

He  took  advantage  of  the  ladies  being  with  Dar'"",  and 
marched  boldly  into  the  kitchen  of  Beaurepaire. 

"  Well,  I  never,"  cried  Jacintha.  "  But,  after  all,  why 
not  ?  " 

He  hurled  himself  on  the  kitchen  table  (clean  as  china), 
and  told  her  it  was  all  over.  "  She  hates  me  now  ;  but 
it  is  not  my  fault,"  and  so  poured  forth  his  tale,  and 
feeling  sure  of  sympathy,  asked  Jacintha  whether  it 
was  not  bitterly  unjust  of  Rose  to  refuse  him  her  own 
acquaintance,  yet  ask  him  to  amuse  that  old  fogy. 

Jacintha  stood  with  her  great  arms  akimbo,  taking  it 
all  in,  and  looking  at  him  with  a  droll  expression  of  satir- 
ical Avonder. 

"Now  you  listen  to  a  parable,"  said  she.  "Once 
there  was  a  little  boy  madly  in  love  with  raspberry 
jam." 

"A  thing  I  hate." 

"  Don't  tell  rae !  Who  hates  raspberry  jam  ?  He 
came  to  the  store  closet,  where  he  kneAv  there  were  jars 
of  it,  and  —  oh!  misery  —  the  door  was  locked.  He 
kicked  the  door,  and  wept  bitterly.  His  mamma  came 
and  said, '  Here  is  the  key,'  and  gave  him  the  key.  And 
what  did  he  do  ?  Why,  he  fell  to  crying  and  roaring,  and 
kicking  the  door.  '  I  don't  wa-wa-wa-wa-nt  the  key-ey-ey. 
I  wa-a-ant  the  jam — oh!  oh!  oh!  oh!'"  and  Jacintha 
mimicked,  after  her  fashion,  the  mingled  grief  and  ire  of 
infancy  debarred  its  jam.  Edouard  wore  a  puzzled  air, 
but  it  was  only  for  a  moment;  the  next  he  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands,  and  cried,  "  Fool !  " 

"  I  shall  not  contradict  you,"  said  his  Mentor. 

"  She  was  my  best  friend.  Once  acquainted  with  the 
doctor,  I  could  visit  at  Beaurepaire." 

"Parbleuf" 

"  She  had  thought  of  a  way  to  reconcile  my  wishes 
with  this  terrible  etiquette  that  reigns  here." 


70  WHITE   LIES. 

"  She  thinks  to  more  purpose  than  you  do ;  that  is 
clear." 

"  Nothing  is  left  now  but  to  ask  her  pardon,  and  to 
consent ;  I  am  off." 

"  No,  you  are  not,"  and  Jacintha  laid  a  grasp  of  iron  on 
him.  "  Will  you  be  quiet  ?  —  is  not  one  blunder  a  day 
enough  ?  If  you  go  near  her  now,  she  will  affront  you, 
and  order  the  doctor  not  to  speak  to  you." 

''  0  Jacintha !  your  sex  then  are  fiends  of  malice  ?  " 

"  While  it  lasts.  Luckily  with  us  nothing  lasts  very 
long.  Now  you  don't  go  near  her  till  you  have  taken 
advantage  of  her  hint,  and  made  the  doctor's  acquaint- 
ance ;  that  is  easy  done.  He  walks  two  hours  on  the 
east  road  every  day,  with  his  feet  in  the  puddles  and  his 
head  in  the  clouds.     Them's  his  two  tastes." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  him  out  of  the  clouds  and  the 
puddles  ?  "  inquired  Riviere  half  peevishly. 

"  How  ? "  asked  Jacintha,  with  a  dash  of  that  con- 
tempt uneducated  persons  generally  have  for  any  one 
who  does  not  know  some  little  thing  they  happen  to 
know  themselves.  "  How  ?  Why,  with  the  nearest  black- 
beetle,  to  be  sure." 

''  A  blackbeetle  ?  " 

"  Black  or  brown ;  it  matters  little.  Have  her  ready 
for  use  in  your  handkerchief :  pull  a  long  face :  and  says 
you  —  '  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  have  the  misfortune  not  to  know 
the  Greek  name  of  this  merchandise  here.'  Say  that, 
and  behold  him  launched.  He  will  christen  you  the 
beast  in  Hebrew  and  Latin  as  well  as  Greek,  and  tell 
you  her  history  down  from  the  flood :  next  he  Avill  beg 
her  of  you,  and  out  will  come  a  cork  and  a  pin,  and 
behold  the  creature  impaled.  For  that  is  how  men  love 
beetles.  He  has  a  thousand  pinned  down  at  home  — 
beetles,  butterflies,  and  so  forth.  When  I  go  near  the 
rubbish  with  my  duster  he  trembles  like  an  aspen.     I 


WHITE    LIES.  71 

pretend  to  be  going  to  clean  them,  but  it  is  only  to  see 
the  face  he  makes,  for  even  a  domestic  must  laugh  now 
and  then  —  or  die.  But  I  never  do  clean  them,  for  after 
all  he  is  more  stupid  than  wicked,  poor  man :  I  have  not 
therefore  the  sad  courage  to  make  him  wretched." 

"  Let  us  return  to  our  beetle  —  what  will  his  tirades 
about  its  antiquity  advance  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  one  begins  about  a  beetle,  but  one  ends  Heaven 
knows  where." 

Riviere  profited  by  this  advice.  He  even  improved  on  it. 
In  due  course  he  threw  himself  into  Aubertin's  way.  He 
stopped  the  doctor  reverentially,  and  said  he  had  heard 
he  was  an  entomologist.  Would  he  be  kind  enough  to  tell 
him  what  was  this  enormous  chrysalis  he  had  just  found? 

"The  death's  head  moth  ! "  cried  Aubertin  with  enthu- 
siasm—  "the  death's  head  moth  !  a  great  rarity  in  this 
district.  Where  found  you  this  ?  "  Riviere  undertook 
to  show  him  the  place. 

It  was  half  a  league  distant.  Coming  and  going  he 
had  time  to  make  friends  with  Aubertin,  and  this  was 
the  easier  that  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  a  physiogno- 
mist as  well  as  ologist,  had  seen  goodness  and  sensibility 
in  Edouard's  face.  At  the  end  of  the  walk  he  begged 
the  doctor  to  accept  the  chrysalis.  The  doctor  coquetted. 
"That  would  be  a  robbery.  You  take  an  interest  in 
these  things  yourself — at  least  I  hope  so." 

The  young  rogue  confessed  modestly  to  the  sentiment 
of  entomology,  but  "the  government  worked  him  so 
hard  as  to  leave  him  no  hopes  of  shining  in  so  high  a 
science,"  said  he  sorrowfully. 

The  doctor  pitied  him.  "A  young  man  of  your 
attainments  and  tastes  to  be  debarred  from  the  everlast- 
ing secrets  of  nature,  by  the  fleeting  politics  of  the  day." 

Riviere  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Somebody  must  do 
the  dirty  work/'  said  he,  chuckling  inwardly. 


72  WJIITE    LIES. 

The  chrysalis  went  to  Beaurepaire  in  the  pocket  of  a 
grateful  man,  who  that  same  evening  told  the  whole 
party  his  conversation  with  young  Riviere,  on  whom  he 
pronounced  high  encomiums.  Kose's  saucy  eyes  sparkled 
with  fun  :  you  might  have  lighted  a  candle  at  one  and 
exploded  a  mine  at  the  other;  but  not  a  syllable  did  she 
utter. 

The  doctor  proved  a  key,  and  opened  the  enchanted 
castle.  One  fine  day  he  presented  his  friend  in  the 
Pleasaunce  to  the  baroness  and  her  daughters. 

They  received  him  with  perfect  politeness.  Thus  in- 
troduced, and  as  he  was  not  one  to  let  the  grass  grow 
under  his  feet,  he  soon  obtained  a  footing  as  friend 
of  the  family,  which,  being  now  advised  by  Josephine, 
he  took  care  not  to  compromise  by  making  love  to  Kose 
before  the  baroness.  However,  he  insisted  on  placing 
his  financial  talent  at  their  service.  He  surveyed  and 
valued  their  lands,  and  soon  discovered  that  all  their 
farms  were  grossly  underlet.  Luckily  most  of  the  leases 
were  run  out.  He  prepared  a  new  rent  roll,  and  showed 
it  Aubertin,  now  his  fast  friend.  Aubertin  at  his 
request  obtained  a  list  of  the  mortgages,  and  Edouard 
drew  a  balance-sheet  founded  on  sure  data,  and  proved 
to  the  baroness  that  in  able  hands  the  said  estate  was 
now  solvent. 

This  was  a  great  comfort  to  the  old  lady:  and  she 
said  to  Aubertin,  "  Heaven  has  sent  us  a  champion,  a 
little  republican  —  with  the  face  of  an  angel." 

Descending  to  practice,  Edouard  actually  put  three  of 
the  farms  into  the  market,  and  let  them  at  an  advance 
of  twenty  per  cent  on  the  expired  leases.  He  brought 
these  leases  signed ;  and  the  baroness  had  scarcely  done 
thanking  him,  when  her  other  secret  friend.  Monsieur 
Perrin,  was  announced.  Edouard  exchanged  civilities 
with  hini;  and  then  retired  to  the  Pleasaunce.     There  he 


WHITE   LIES.  73 

found  both  sisters,  who  were  all  tenderness  and  gratitude 
to  him.  By  this  time  he  had  learned  to  value  Josephine  : 
she  was  so  lovely  and  so  good,  and  such  a  true  womanly 
friend  to  him.  Even  Rose  could  not  resist  her  influence, 
and  was  obliged  to  be  kind  to  him,  when  Josephine  was 
by.  But  let  Josephine  go,  and  instead  of  her  being 
more  tender,  as  any  other  girl  would,  left  alone  with  her 
lover,  sauciness  resumed  its  empire  till  sweet  Josephine 
returned.  Whereof  cometh  an  example ;  for  the  said 
Josephine  was  summoned  to  a  final  conference  with  the 
baroness  and  Monsieur  Perrin. 

"  Don't  be  long,"  said  Rose,  as  Josephine  glided  away, 
and  (taking  the  precaution  to  wait  till  she  was  quite  out 
of  hearing),  "I  shall  be  so  dull,  dear,  till  you  come 
back." 

"I  shall  not  though,"  said  Edouard. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.     Now  then." 

"  Now  then,  what  ?  " 

"Begin." 

"  Begin  what  ?  " 

"  Amusing  me."  And  she  made  herself  look  sullen 
and  unamusable  all  over. 

"I  will  try,"  said  Riviere.  "I'll  tell  you  what  they 
say  of  you  :  that  you  are  too  young  to  love." 

"So  I  am,  much." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  I  made  a  mistake.  I  mean  too  young  to 
be  loved." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  too  young  for  that,  not  a  bit." 

This  point  settled,  she  suggested  that,  if  he  could  not 
amuse  her,  he  had  better  do  the  next  best  thing,  and  that 
was,  talk  sense. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  not  talk  at  all,"  said  he,  "  for 
I  am  no  match  for  such  a  nimble  tongue.  And  then  you 
are  so  remorseless.  I'll  hold  my  tongue,  and  make  a 
sketch  of  this  magnificent  oak." 


74  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Ay,  do :  draw  it  as  it  aj)peared  on  a  late  occasion : 
with  two  ladies  flying  out  of  it,  and  you  rooted  with 
dismay." 

"  There  is  no  need  ;  that  scene  is  engraved." 

"  Where  ?  in  all  the  shops  ?  " 

"  No ;  on  all  our  memories." 

''Not  on  mine;  not  on  mine.  How  terrified  you 
were  —  ha,  ha  !  and  how  terrified  Ave  should  have  been 
if  you  had  not.  Listen:  once  upon  a  time — don't  be 
alarmed  :  it  was  long  after  Noah  —  a  frightened  hare 
ran  by  a  pond  ;  the  frogs  splashed  in  the  water,  smit 
with  awe.  Then  she  said,  '  Ah  ha !  there  are  people  in 
the  world  I  frighten  in  my  turn ;  I  am  the  thunderbolt 
of  war.'  Excuse  my  quoting  La  Fontaine  :  I  am  not  in 
'  Charles  the  Twelfth  of  Sweden '  yet.  I  am  but  a 
child." 

"  And  it's  a  great  mercy,  for  when  you  grow  up,  you 
will  be  too  much  for  me,  that  is  evident.  Come,  then, 
Mademoiselle  the  Quizzer,  come  and  adorn  my  sketch." 

"  Monsieur,  shall  I  make  you  a  confession  ?  You  will 
not  be  angry  :  I  could  not  support  your  displeasure.  I 
have  a  strange  inclination  to  walk  up  and  down  this 
terrace  while  you  go  and  draw  that  tree  in  the  Pleas- 
aunce." 

"  Resist  that  inclination ;  perhaps  it  wall  fly  from 
you." 

"  No ;  you  fly  from  me,  and  draw.  I  will  rejoin  you 
in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Thank  you,  I'm  not  so  stupid.  You  will  step  in- 
doors directly," 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  word,  sir  ?  "  asked  she  haughtily. 

He  had  learned  to  obey  all  her  caprices ;  so  he  went 
and  placed  himself  on  the  west  side  of  the  oak  and  took 
out  his  sketch-book,  and  worked  zealously  and  rapidly. 
He  had  done  the  outlines  of  the  tree  and  was  finish- 


WHITE    LIES.  75 

ing  in  detail  a  part  of  the  liuge  trunk,  when  his  eyes 
were  suddedly  dazzled  :  in  the  middle  of  the  rugged 
bark,  deformed  here  and  there  with  great  wart-like 
bosses,  and  wrinkled,  seamed,  and  ploughed  all  over 
with  age,  burst  a  bit  of  variegated  color ;  bright  as  a 
poppy  on  a  dungeon  wall,  it  glowed  and  glittered  out 
through  a  large  hole  in  the  brown  bark  ;  it  was  Rose's 
face  peeping.  To  our  young  lover's  eye  how  divine  it 
shone !  None  of  the  half  tints  of  common  flesh  were 
there,  but  a  thing  all  rose,  lily,  sapphire,  and  soul.  His 
pencil  dropped,  his  mouth  opened,  he  was  downright 
dazzled  by  the  glowing,  bewitching  face,  sparkling  with 
fun,  in  the  gaunt  tree.  Tell  me,  ladies,  did  she  know, 
even  at  that  age,  the  value  of  that  sombre  frame  to  her 
brightness  ?  The  moment  she  found  herself  detected, 
the  gaunt  old  tree  rang  musical  with  a  crystal  laugh, 
and  out  came  the  arch-dryad.  "I  have  been  there  all 
the  time.  How  solemn  you  looked !  Now  for  the 
result  of  such  profound  study."  He  showed  her  his 
work ;  she  altered  her  tone.  "  Oh,  how  clever ! "  she 
cried,  "  and  how  rapid !  What  a  facility  you  have  !  Mon- 
sieur is  an  artist,"  said  she  gravely  ;  "  I  will  be  more 
respectful,"  and  she  dropped  him  a  low  courtesy.  "  Mind 
you  promised  it  me,"  she  added  sharply. 

"  You  will  accept  it,  then  ?  " 

"  That  I  will,  now  it  is  worth  having :  dear  me,  I 
never  reckoned  on  that.  Finish  it  directly,"  cried  this 
peremptory  young  person. 

"First  I  must  trouble  you  to  stand  out  there  near  the 
tree." 

"  Me  ?  what  for  ?  " 

"Because  art  loves  contrasts.  The  tree  is  a  picture 
of  age  and  gradual  decay  ;  by  its  side  then  I  must  place 
a  personification  of  youth  and  growing  loveliness." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  made  a  sort  of  defiant  pirou- 


76  WHITE    LIES. 

ette,  and  went  where  she  was  hid,  and  stood  there  with 
her  back  to  the  artist.  '*  That  will  never  do,"  said  he ; 
"  you  really  must  be  so  good  a,s  to  turn  round." 

"  Oh,  very  well."  And  when  she  came  round,  behold 
her  color  had  risen  mightily.     Flattery  is  sweet. 

This  child  of  nature  was  delighted,  and  ashamed  it 
should  be  seen  that  she  was. 

And  so  he  drew  her,  and  kept  looking  off  the  paper  at 
her,  and  had  a  right  in  his  character  of  artist  to  look 
her  full  in  the  face  ;  and  he  did  so  with  long  lingering 
glances.  To  be  sure,  they  all  began  severe  and  business- 
like with  half-closed  eyes,  and  the  peculiar  hostile 
expression  art  puts  on ;  but  then  they  always  ended 
open-eyed,  and  so  fvill  and  tender,  that  she,  poor  girl, 
who  was  all  real  gold,  though  sham  brass,  blushed  and 
blushed,  and  did  not  know  which  way  to  look  not  to  be 
scorched  up  by  his  eye  like  a  tender  ilower,  or  blandly 
absorbed  like  the  pearly  dew.  Ah,  happy  hour  !  ah, 
happy  days  of  youth  and  innocence  and  first  love  ! 

Trouble  loves  to  intrude  on  these  halcyon  days. 

The  usually  quiet  Josephine  came  flying  from  the 
house,  pale  and  agitated,  and  clung  despairingly  to  Rose, 
and  then  fell  to  sobbing  and  lamenting  piteously. 

I  shall  take  leave  to  relate  in  my  own  Avords  what  had 
just  occurred  to  agitate  her  so.  When  she  entered  her 
mother's  room,  she  found  the  baroness  and  Perrin  the 
notary  seated  watching  for  her.  She  sat  down  after  the 
usual  civilities,  and  Perrin  entered  upon  the  subject  that 
had  brought  him. 

He  began  by  confessing  to  them  that  he  had  not  over- 
come the  refractory  creditor  without  much  trouble  ;  and 
that  he  had  since  learned  there  was  another,  a  larger 
creditor,  likely  to  press  for  payment  or  for  sale  of  the 
estate.  The  baroness  was  greatly  troubled  by  this  com- 
munication :  the  notary  remained  cool  as  a  cucumber, 


"WHITE   LIES.  77 

and  keenly  observant.  After  a  pause  he  went  on  to  say 
all  this  had  caused  him  grave  reflections.  "  It  seems," 
said  he  with  cool  candor,  "  a  sad  pity  the  estate  should 
pass  from  a  family  that  has  held  it  since  the  days  of 
Charlemagne." 

"  Now  God  forbid ! "  cried  the  baroness,  lifting  her 
eyes  and  her  quivering  hands  to  heaven. 

The  notary  held  the  republican  creed  in  all  its 
branches.  "  Providence,  madame,  does  not  interfere  — 
in  matters  of  business,"  said  he.  "Nothing  but  money 
can  save  the  estate.  Let  us  then  be  practical.  Has  any 
means  occurred  to  you  of  raising  money  to  pay  off  these 
incumbrances  ?  " 

"No.  What  means  can  there  be?  The  estate  is 
mortgaged  to  its  full  value  :  so  they  say,  at  least." 

"And  they  say  true,"  put  in  the  notary  quickly. 
"  But  do  not  distress  yourself,  madame  :  confide  in  me." 

"  Ah,  my  good  friend,  may  Heaven  reward  you." 

"Madame,  up  to  the  present  time  I  have  no  complaint 
to  make  of  Heaven.  I  am  on  the  rise  :  here,  mademoi- 
selle, is  a  gimcrack  they  have  given  me ; "  and  he  un- 
buttoned his  overcoat,  and  showed  them  a  piece  of 
tricolored  ribbon  and  a  clasp.  "As  for  me,  I  look  to 
'  the  solid ; '  I  care  little  for  these  things,"  said  he, 
swelling  visibly,  "but  the  world  is  dazzled  by  them. 
However,  I  can  show  you  something  better."  He  took 
out  a  letter.  "  This  is  from  the  Minister  of  the  Interior 
to  a  client  of  mine  :  a  promise  I  shall  be  the  next  pre- 
fect; and  the  present  prefect  —  I  am  happy  to  say  —  is  on 
his  death-bed.  Thus,  madame,  your  humble  servant  in 
a  few  short  months  will  be  notary  no  longer,  but  prefect ; 
I  shall  then  sell  my  office  of  notary  :  and  I  flatter  myself 
when  I  am  a  prefect  you  will  not  blush  to  own  me." 

"Then,  as  now,  monsieur,"  said  the  baroness  politely, 
"we  shall  recognize  your  merit.     But"  — 


78  WHITE   LIES. 

"I  understand,  madame  :  like  me  you  look  to  'the 
solid.'     Thus  then  it  is  ;  I  have  money." 

"  Ah  !  all  the  better  for  you." 

"  I  have  a  good  deal  of  money.  But  it  is  dispersed  in 
a  great  many  small  but  profitable  investments  :  to  call  it 
in  suddenly  would  entail  some  loss.  Nevertheless,  if 
you  and  my  young  lady  there  have  ever  so  little  of  that 
friendly  feeling  towards  me  of  which  I  have  so  much 
towards  you,  all  my  investments  shall  be  called  in,  and 
two-thirds  of  your  creditors  shall  be  paid  off  at  once. 
A  single  client  of  mine,  no  less  a  man  than  the  Com- 
mandant Raynal,  will,  I  am  sure,  advance  me  the  remain- 
ing third  at  an  hour's  notice  ;  and  so  Beaurepaire  chateau, 
park,  estate,  and  grounds,  down  to  the  old  oak-tree,  shall 
be  saved ;  and  no  power  shall  alienate  them  from  you, 
mademoiselle,  and  from  the  heirs  of  your  body." 

The  baroness  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy. 

"But  what  are  we  to  do  for  this  ?  "  inquired  Josephine 
calmly,  "  for  it  seems  to  me  that  it  can  only  be  effected 
by  a  sacrifice  on  your  part." 

"I  thank  you,  mademoiselle,  for  your  penetration  in 
seeing  that  I  must  make  sacrifices.  I  would  never  have 
told  you,  but  you  have  seen  it ;  and  I  do  not  regret  that 
you  have  seen  it.  Madame — mademoiselle  —  those  sac- 
rifices appear  little  to  me ;  will  seem  nothing ;  will  never 
be  mentioned,  or  even  alluded  to  after  this  day,  if  you, 
on  your  part,  will  lay  me  under  a  far  heavier  obligation, 
if  in  short "  —  here  the  contemner  of  things  unsubstan- 
tial reopened  his  coat,  and  brought  his  ribbon  to  light 
again  —  "  if  you,  madame,  will  accept  me  for  your  son- 
in-law  —  if  you,  mademoiselle,  will  take  me  for  your 
husband." 

The  baroness  and  her  daughter  looked  at  one  another 
in  silence. 

"Is  it  a  jest  ?  "  inquired  the  former  of  the  latter. 


"WHITE   LIES.  79 

"Can  you  think  so?  Answer  Monsieur  Perrin,  He 
has  just  done  us  a  kind  office,  mother." 

"  I  shall  remember  it.  Monsieur,  permit  me  to  regret 
that  having  lately  won  our  gratitude  and  esteem,  you 
have  taken  this  way  of  modifying  those  feelings.  But 
after  all,"  she  added  with  gentle  courtesy,  "  we  may  well 
put  your  good  deeds  against  this  —  this  error  in  judg- 
ment. The  balance  is  in  your  favor  still,  provided  you 
never  return  to  this  topic.  Come,  is  it  agreed?"  The 
baroness's  manner  was  full  of  tact,  and  the  latter  sen- 
tences were  said  with  an  open  kindliness  of  manner. 
There  was  nothing  to  prevent  Perrin  from  dropping  the 
subject,  and  remaining  good  friends.  A  gentleman  or  a 
lover  would  have  so  done.  Monsieur  Perrin  was  neither. 
He  said  bitterly,  "  You  refuse  me,  then." 

The  tone  and  the  words  were  each  singly  too  much  for 
the  baroness's  pride.     She  answered  coldly  but  civilly,  — 

"I  do  not  refuse  you.  I  do  not  take  an  affront  into 
consideration." 

"  Be  calm,  mamma ;  no  affront  whatever  was  intended." 

"  Ah !  here  is  one  that  is  more  reasonable,"  cried 
Perrin. 

"There  are  men,"  continued  Josephine  Avithout  notic- 
ing him,  "who  look  to  but  one  thing  —  interest.  It  was 
an  offer  made  politely  in  the  way  of  business :  decline  it 
in  the  same  spirit ;  that  is  what  you  have  to  do." 

"  Monsieur,  you  hear  what  mademoiselle  says  ?  She 
carries  politeness  a  long  way.  After  all  it  is  a  good 
fault.  "Well,  monsieur,  I  need  not  answer  you,  since 
Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire  has  answered  you ;  but  I 
detain  you  no  longer." 

Strictly  a  weasel  has  no  business  with  the  temper  of 
a  tiger,  but  this  one  had,  and  the  long  vindictiveness 
of  a  Corsican.  "  Ah  !  my  little  lady,  you  turn  me  out 
of  the  house,  do  you  ?  "  cried  he,  grinding  his  teeth. 


80  WHITE    LIES. 

"  Turn  liim  out  of  the  house  ?  what  a  phrase !  where 
has  this  man  lived  ?  " 

"  A  man  !  "  snarled  Perrin,  "  whom  none  ever  yet  in- 
sulted without  repenting  it,  and  repenting  in  vain.  You 
are  under  obligations  to  me,  and  you  think  to  turn  me 
out !  You  are  at  my  mercy,  and  you  think  I  will  let 
you  turn  me  to  your  door  !  In  less  than  a  month  I  will 
stand  here,  and  say  to  you,  Beaurepaire  is  mine.  Begone 
from  it ! " 

When  he  uttered  these  terrible  words,  each  of  which 
was  like  a  sword-stroke  to  the  baroness,  the  old  lady, 
whose  courage  was  not  equal  to  her  strength,  shrank 
over  the  side  of  her  arm-chair,  and  cried  piteously  — 
"  He  threatens  me  !  he  threatens  me  !  I  am  frightened ; " 
and  put  up  her  trembling  hands,  for  the  notary's  elo- 
quence, being  accompanied  with  abundance  of  gesture, 
bordered  upon  physical  violence.  His  brutality  received 
an  unexpected  check.  Imagine  that  a  sparrow-hawk  had 
seized  a  trembling  pigeon,  and  that  a  royal  falcon  swooped, 
and  with  one  lightning-like  stroke  of  body  and  wing, 
buffeted  him  away,  and  sent  him  gaping  and  glaring  and 
grasping  at  pigeonless  air  with  his  claws.  So  swift  and 
majestic,  Josephine  de  Beaurepaire  came  from  her  chair 
with  one  gesture  of  her  body  between  her  mother  and 
the  notary,  who  was  advancing  with  arms  folded  in  a 
brutal,  menacing  way  —  not  the  Josephine  we  have  seen 
her,  the  calm  languid  beauty,  but  the  demoiselle  de 
Beaurepaire  —  her  great  heart  on  fire  —  her  blood  up  — 
not  her  own  only,  but  all  the  blood  of  all  the  De  Beaure- 
paires  —  pale  as  ashes  with  great  wrath,  her  purple  eyes 
on  fire,  and  her  whole  panther-like  body  full  of  spring. 
"  Wretch !  you  dare  to  insult  her,  and  before  me  !  Arri- 
ere  viiserahle  !  or  I  soil  my  hand  with  your  face."  And 
her  hand  was  up  with  the  word,  up,  up,  higher  it  seemed 
than  ever  a  hand  was  raised  before.      And  if  he  had 


WHITE    LIES.  81 

hesitated  one  moment,  I  really  believe  it  would  have 
come  down;  not  heavily,  perhaps  —  the  lightning  is  not 
heavy.  But  there  was  no  need.  The  towering  threat 
and  the  flaming  eye  and  the  swift  rush  buffeted  the  cai- 
tiff away  :  he  recoiled.  She  followed  him  as  he  went, 
strong,  for  a  moment  or  tico,  as  Hercules,  beautiful  and 
terrible  as  Michael  driving  Satan.  He  dared  not,  or 
could  not  stand  before  her :  he  writhed  and  cowered  and 
recoiled  all  down  the  room,  while  she  marched  upon  him. 
But  the  driven  serpent  hissed  horribly  as  it  wriggled 
away. 

"  You  shall  both  be  turned  out  of  Beaurepaire  by  me, 
and  forever;  I  swear  it,  parole  de  Perrin." 

He  had  not  been  gone  a  minute  when  Josephine's 
courage  oozed  away,  and  she  ran,  or  rather  tottered,  into 
the  Pleasaunce,  and  clung  like  a  drowning  thing  to  Rose, 
and,  when  Edouard  took  her  hand,  she  clung  to  him. 
They  had  to  gather  what  had  happened  how  they  could : 
the  account  was  constantly  interrupted  with  her  sobs  and 
self-reproaches.  She  said  she  had  ruined  all  she  loved  : 
ruined  her  sister,  ruined  her  mother,  ruined  the  house  of 
Beaurepaire.  Why  was  she  ever  born  ?  Why  had  she 
not  died  three  years  ago  ?  (Query,  what  was  the  date 
at  which  Camille's  letters  suddenly  stopped  ?)  That 
coward,"  said  she,  "has  the  heart  of  a  fiend.  He  told 
us  he  never  forgave  an  affront ;  and  he  holds  our  fate  in 
his  hands.  He  will  drive  our  mother  from  her  home, 
and  she  will  die  :  murdered  by  her  own  daughter.  After 
all,  why  did  I  refuse  him  ?  What  should  I  have  sacri- 
ficed by  marrying  him  ?  Rose,  write  to  him,  and  say  — 
say — I  was  taken  by  surprise,  I  —  I"  —  a  violent  flood 
of  tears  interrupted  the  sentence. 

Rose  flung  her  arms  round  her  neck.  "iSfy  beautiful 
Josephine  marry  that  creature  ?  Let  house  and  lands 
go  a  thousand  times  sooner.  I  love  my  sister  a  thou- 
G 


82  WHITE   LIES. 

sand  times  better  than  tlie  walls  of  this  or  any  other 
house." 

'•'  Come,  come,"  cried  Edouard,  "  you  are  forgetting  me 
all  this  time.  Do  you  really  think  I  am  the  sort  of  man 
to  stand  by  with  my  hands  in  my  pockets,  and  let  her 
marry  that  cur,  or  you  be  driven  out  of  Beaurepaire  ? 
Neither,  while  I  live." 

"  Alas !  dear  boy,"  sighed  Josephine,  ''  what  can  you 
do  ?  " 

''  I'll  soon  show  you.  From  this  hour  forth  it  is  a 
duel  between  that  Perrin  and  me.  Now,  Josephine  — 
Rose  —  don't  you  cry  and  fret  like  that :  but  just  look 
quietly  on,  and  enjoy  the  fight,  both  of  you." 

Josephine  shook  her  head  with  a  sad  smile :  but  Rose 
delivered  herself  thus,  after  a  sob,  "  La,  yes ;  I  forgot : 
we  have  got  a  gentleman  now ;  that's  one  comfort." 

Edouard  rose  to  the  situation :  he  saw  that  Perrin 
would  lose  no  time  ;  and  that  every  day,  or  even  hour, 
might  be  precious.  He  told  them  that  the  first  thing  he 
must  do  for  them  was  to  leave  the  company  he  loved 
best  on  earth,  and  run  down  to  the  town  to  consult  Picard 
the  rival  notary  :  he  would  be  back  by  supper-time,  when 
he  hoped  they  would  do  him  the  honor,  in  a  matter  of 
such  importance,  to  admit  him  to  a  family  council. 

Josephine  assented  with  perfect  simj^licity ;  Rose  Avith 
a  deep  blush,  for  she  was  too  quick  not  to  see  all  the 
consequences  of  admitting  so  brisk  a  wooer  into  a  family 
council. 

It  was  a  wet  evening,  and  a  sad  and  silent  party  sat 
round  a  wood  fire  in  the  great  dining-hall.  The  baroness 
was  almost  prostrated  by  the  scene  with  Perrin ;  and  a 
sombre  melancholy  and  foreboding  weighed  on  all  their 
spirits,  when  presently  Edouard  Riviere  entered  briskly, 
and  saluted  them  all  profoundly,  and  opened  the  proceed- 


"WHITE   LIES.  83 

ings  with  a  little  favorite  pomposity.  "Madame  the 
baroness,  and  you  Monsieur  Aubertin,  who  honor  me  with 
your  esteem,  and  you  Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire,  whom 
I  adore,  and  you  Mademoiselle  Rose,  whom  I  hoped  to 
be  permitted  — you  have  this  day  done  me  the  honor  to 
admit  me  as  your  adviser.  I  am  here  to  lay  my  plans 
before  you.  I  believe,  madame,  I  have  already  convinced 
you  that  your  farms  are  under-let,  and  your  property 
lowered  in  value  by  general  mismanagement;  this  was 
doubtless  known  to  Perrin,  and  set  him  scheming.  Well, 
I  rely  on  the  same  circumstance  to  defeat  him.  I  have 
consulted  Picard  and  shown  him  the  rent-roll  and  balance- 
sheet  I  had  already  shown  you.  He  has  confessed  that 
the  estate  is  worth  more  than  its  debts,  so  capitalists 
can  safely  advance  the  money.  To-morrow  morning, 
then,  I  ride  to  Commandant  Raynal  for  a  week's  leave 
of  absence ;  then,  armed  with  Picard's  certiiicate,  shall 
proceed  to  my  uncle  and  ask  him  to  lend  the  money. 
His  estate  is  very  small  compared  with  Beaurepaire, 
but  he  has  always  farmed  it  himself.  '  I'll  have  no  go- 
between,'  says  he,  'to  impoverish  both  self  and  soil.' 
He  is  also  a  bit  of  a  misanthrope,  and  has  made  me  one. 
I  have  a  very  poor  opinion  of  my  fellow-creatures,  very." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Eose,  "  if  he  is  all  that,  he  will  not 
sympathize  with  us,  who  have  so  mismanaged  Beaure- 
paire.    W^ill  he  not  despise  us  ?" 

Edouard  was  a  little  staggered,  but  Aubertin  came  to 
his  aid. 

"  Permit  me,  Josephine,"  said  he.  "  Natural  history 
steps  in  here,  and  teaches  by  me,  its  mouth-piece.  A 
misanthrope  hates  all  mankind,  but  is  kind  to  every 
individual,  generally  too  kind.  A  philanthrope  loves  the 
whole  human  race,  but  dislikes  his  wife,  his  mother,  his 
brother,  and  his  friends  and  acquaintances.  Misanthrope 
is  the  potato :  rough  and  repulsive  outside,  but  good  to 


84  WHITE   LIES. 

the  core.  Philanthrope  is  a  peach :  his  manner  all  velvet 
and  bloom,  his  words  sweet  juice,  his  heart  of  hearts  a 
stone.  Let  me  read  Philanthrope's  book,  and  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Misanthrope." 

Edouard  admitted  the  shrewdness  of  this  remark. 

''And  so,"  said  he,  "my  misanthrope  will  say  plenty 
of  biting  words, — which,  by-the-by,  will  not  hurt  you, 
who  will  not  hear  them,  only  me,  —  and  then  he'll  lend 
us  the  money,  and  Beaurepaire  will  be  free,  and  I  shall 
have  had  a  hand  in  it.     Hurrah  !  " 

Then  came  a  delicious  hour  to  Edouard  Riviere.  Young 
and  old  poured  out  their  glowing  thanks  and  praises 
upon  him  till  his  cheeks  burned  like  fire. 

The  baroness  was  especially  grateful,  and  expressed  a 
gentle  regret  that  she  could  see  no  way  of  showing  her 
gratitude  except  in  words.  "  What  can  we  do  for  this 
little  angel  ?  "  said  she,  turning  to  Josephine. 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  mamma,"  replied  Josephine,  turn- 
ing her  lovely  eyes  full  on  Edouard,  with  a  look  the 
baroness  misunderstood  directly. 

She  sat  and  watched  Josephine  and  Edouard  with 
comical  severity  all  the  rest  of  the  time  she  was  there ; 
and,  when  she  retired,  she  kissed  Rose  affectionately, 
but  whispered  her  eldest  daughter,  "  I  hope  you  are  not 
serious.     A  mere  boy  compared  with  you." 

"But  such  a  sweet  one,"  suggested  Josephine,  apolo- 
getically. 

"  What  will  the  world  come  to  ?  "  said  the  baroness 
out  loud,  and  retreated  with  a  sour  glance  at  all  of  them 
—  except  Rose. 

She  had  not  been  gone  five  minutes  when  a  letter  came 
by  messenger  to  Edouard.  It  was  from  Picard.  He  read 
it  out. 

"  Perriii  has  been  with  me,  to  raise  money.  He  wants  it  in 
forty-eight  houi-s.  Promises  good  legal  security.  I  have 
agreed  to  try  and  arrange  the  matter  for  him." 


WHITE   LIES.  86 

They  were  all  astonished  at  this. 

"  The  double-faced  traitor  !  "  cried  Edouard.  "  Stay ; 
wait  a  minute.     Let  us  read  it  to  an  end." 

"This  promise  is,  of  course,  merely  to  prevent  his  going 
elsewhere.  At  the  end  of  the  forty-eight  hours  I  shall  begin 
to  make  difficulties.  INIeantime,  as  Perrin  is  no  fool,  you  had 
better  profit  to  the  full  by  this  temporary  delay." 

"  Well  done,  Picard ! "  shouted  Edouard.  "  Notary  cut 
notary,  /won't  lose  an  hour.  I'll  start  at  five;  Com- 
mandant Raynal  is  an  early  riser  himself." 

Accordingly,  at  five  he  was  on  the  road  ;  Raynal's 
quarters  lay  in  the  direct  line  to  his  uncle's  place.  He 
found  the  commandant  at  home,  and  was  well  received. 
Raynal  had  observed  his  zeal,  and  liked  his  manners.  He 
gave  him  the  week's  leave,  and  kept  him  to  breakfast, 
and  had  his  horse  well  fed.  At  eight  o'clock  Edouard 
rode  out  of  the  premises  in  high  spirits.  At  the  very 
gate  he  met  a  gaunt  figure  riding  in  on  a  squab  pony. 
It  was  Perrin  the  notary  coming  in  hot  haste  to  his  friend 
and  employer,  Commandant  Raynal. 


WHITE   LIES. 


CHAPTER   V. 

After  Edouard's  departure,  Josephine  de  Beaurepaire 
was  sad,  and  weighed  down  with  presentiments.  She 
felt  as  soldiers  sometimes  feel  who  know  the  enemy  is 
undermining  them  ;  no  danger  on  the  surface ;  nothing 
that  can  be  seen,  met,  baffled,  attacked,  or  evaded;  in 
daily  peril,  all  the  more  horrible  that  it  imitates  perfect 
serenity,  they  await  the  fatal  match.  She  imparted  her 
misgivings  to  Aubertin ;  but  he  assured  her  she  exagger- 
ated the  danger. 

"  We  have  a  friend  still  more  zealous  and  active  than 
our  enemy ;  believe  me,  your  depression  is  really  caused 
by  his  absence ;  we  all  miss  the  contact  of  that  young 
heroic  spirit;  we  are  a  body,  and  he  its  soul." 

Josephine  was  silent,  for  she  said  to  herself,  ''Why 
should  I  dash  their  spirits  ?  they  are  so  happy  and  con- 
fident." 

Edouard  had  animated  Rose  and  Aubertin  with  his 
own  courage,  and  had  even  revived  the  baroness. 

It  had  been  agreed  between  him  and  Picard  that  the 
latter  should  communicate  with  Dr.  Aubertin  direct, 
should  anything  fresh  occur.  And  on  the  third  day 
after  Edouard's  departure,  Picard  sent  up  a  private  mes- 
sage :  "Perrin  has  just  sent  me  a  line  to  say  he  will  not 
trouble  us,  as  he  is  offered  the  money  in  another  quarter." 

This  was  a  heavy  blow,  and  sent  them  all  to  bed  more 
or  less  despondent. 

The  next  day  brought  a  long  letter  from  Edouard  to 
Rose,  telling  her  he  had  found  his  uncle  crusty  at  first ; 
but  at  last  with  a  little  patience,  and  the  co-operation  of 


WHITE   LIES.  87 

Martha,  his  uncle's  old  servant,  and  his  nurse,  the  old 
boy  had  come  round.  They  might  look  on  the  affair  as 
all  but  settled. 

The  contents  of  this  letter  were  conveyed  to  the 
baroness.  The  house  brightened  under  it :  the  more 
so  that  there  was  some  hope  of  their  successful  cham- 
pion returning  in  person  next  day.  Meantime  Perrin 
had  applied  to  Raynal  for  the  immediate  loan  of  a  large 
sum  of  money  on  excellent  security.  Raynal  refused 
plump.     Perrin  rode  away  disconsolate. 

But  the  next  day  he  returned  to  the  charge  with 
another  proposal :  and  the  nature  of  this  second  pro- 
posal we  shall  learn  from  events. 

The  day  Edouard  was  expected  opened  deliciously. 
It  was  a  balmy  morning,  and  tempted  the  sisters  out 
before  breakfast.  They  strolled  on  the  south  terrace 
with  their  arms  round  each  other's  waists,  talking  about 
Edouard,  and  wondering  whether  they  should  really  see 
him  before  night.  Rose  owned  she  had  missed  him,  and 
confessed  for  the  first  time  she  was  a  proud  and  happy 
girl. 

"  May  I  tell  him  so  ?  "  asked  Josephine. 

"  Not  for  all  the  world.     Would  you  dare  ?  " 

Further  discussion  of  that  nice  point  was  stopped  by 
the  baroness  coming  out,  leaning  on  Dr.  Aubertin. 

Then  —  how  we  young  people  of  an  unceremonious  age 
should  have  stared  —  the  demoiselles  de  Beaurepaire,  inas- 
much as  this  was  their  mother's  first  appearance,  lowered 
their  fair  heads  at  the  same  time  like  young  poplars  bow- 
ing to  the  wind,  and  so  waited  reverently  till  she  had 
slightly  lifted  her  hands,  and  said,  "  God  bless  you,  my 
children  !" 

It  was  done  in  a  moment  on  both  sides,  but  full  of 
grace  and  piety,  and  the  charm  of  ancient  manners. 

"  How  did  our  dear  mother  sleep  ?  "  inquired  Josephine. 


88  WHITE   LIES. 

Aubertin  interposed  with  a  theory  that  she  slept  very  well 
indeed  if  she  took  what  he  gave  her. 

"Ay,  z/, "  suggested  Rose,  saucily. 

"  I  slept,"  said  the  baroness,  "  and  I  wish  I  had  not ; 
for  I  dreamed  an  ugly  dream."  They  all  gathered  round 
her,  and  she  told  her  dream. 

"  1  thought  1  was  with  you  all  in  this  garden.  I  was 
admiring  the  flowers  and  the  trees,  and  the  birds  were 
singing  with  all  their  might.  Suddenly  a  dark  cloud 
came ;  it  cleared  almost  directly ;  but  flowers,  trees, 
sky,  and  birds  were  gone  now,  and  I  could  see  the 
chateau  itself  no  more.  It  means  that  1  was  dead. 
An  ugly  dream,  my  children,  an  ugly  dream." 

"  But  only  a  dream,  dear  mother,"  said  Rose  :  then 
with  a  sweet,  consoling  smile,  "  See,  here  is  your  terrace 
and  your  chateau," 

"And  here  are  your  daughters,"  said  Josephine  ;  and 
they  both  came  and  kissed  her  to  put  their  existence  out 
of  doubt.  "And  here  is  your  ^sculapius,"  said  Aubertin. 
"And  here  is  your  Jacintha." 

"  Breakfast,  madame,"  said  Jacintha.  "  Breakfast, 
mesdemoiselles.  Breakfast,  monsieur  :  "  dropping  each 
a  distinct  courtesy  in  turn. 

"  She  has  turned  the  conversation  very  agreeably," 
said  the  baroness,  and  went  in  leaning  on  her  old  friend. 

But  the  sisters  lagged  behind  and  took  several  turns 
in  silence.  Rose  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  How  super- 
stitious of  you  ! " 

"  I  said  nothing." 

"  No ;  but  you  looked  volumes  at  me  while  mamma 
was  telling  her  dream.  For  my  part  I  feel  sure  love  is 
stronger  than  hate  ;  and  we  shall  stay  all  our  days  in 
this  sweet  place  :  and  0  Josey  !  am  I  not  a  happy  girl 
that  it's  all  owing  to  him  !  " 

At  this  moment  Jacintha  came  running;  towards  them. 


WHITE   LIES.  89 

They  took  it  for  a  summons  to  breakfast,  and  moved  to 
meet  her.  But  they  soon  saw  she  was  almost  as  white 
as  her  apron,  and  she  came  open-moutlied  and  wringing 
her  hands.  "  What  shall  1  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?  Oh, 
don't  let  my  poor  mistress  know  ! " 

They  soon  got  from  her  that  Dard  had  just  come  from 
the  town,  and  learned  the  chateau  was  sold,  and  the  pro- 
prietor coming  to  take  possession  this  very  day.  The 
poor  girls  were  stupefied  by  the  blow. 

If  anything,  Josephine  felt  it  worst,  "It  is  my  doing," 
she  gasped,  and  tottered  fainting.  Rose  supported  her : 
she  shook  it  off  by  a  violent  effort.  "This  is  no  time  for 
weakness,"  she  cried,  wildly  ;  "  come  to  the  Pleasaunce ; 
there  is  water  there.  I  love  my  mother.  What  will  I 
not  do  for  her  ?     I  love  my  mother." 

Muttering  thus  wildly  she  made  for  the  pond  in  the 
Pleasaunce.  She  had  no  sooner  turned  the  angle  of  the 
chateau  than  she  started  back  with  a  convulsive  cry,  and 
her  momentary  feebleness  left  her  directly ;  she  crouched 
against  the  wall  and  griped  the  ancient  corner-stone  with 
her  tender  hand  till  it  powdered,  and  she  spied  with 
dilating  eye  into  the  Pleasaunce,  Rose  and  Jacintha  pant- 
ing behind  her.  Two  men  stood  with  their  backs  turned 
to  her  looking  at  the  oak-tree  ;  one  an  officer  in  full  uni- 
form, the  other  the  human  snake  Perrin.  Though  the 
soldier's  back  was  turned,  his  off-handed,  peremptory  man- 
ner told  her  he  was  inspecting  the  place  as  its  master. 

"  The  baroness  !  the  baroness  ! "  cried  Jacintha,  with 
horror.  They  looked  round,  and  the  baroness  was  at 
their  very  backs. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  she,  gayly. 

"  Nothing,  mamma." 

"Let  me  see  this  nothing." 

They  glanced  at  one  another,  and,  idle  as  the  attempt 
was,  the  liabit  of  sparing  her  prevailed,  and  they  flung 
themselves  between  her  and  the  blow. 


90  WHITE   LIES. 

"Josephine  is  not  well,"  said  Rose.  "She  wants  to 
go  in."     Both  girls  faced  the  baroness. 

"  Jacintha,"  said  the  baroness,  "  fetch  Dr.  Aubertin. 
There,  I  have  sent  her  away.  So  now  tell  me,  why  do 
you  drive  me  back  so  ?  Something  has  happened,"  and 
she  looked  keenly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  0  mamma  !  do  not  go  that  way  :  there  are  strangers 
in  the  Pleasaunce." 

"  Let  me  see.  So  there  are.  Call  Jacintha  back  that 
I  may  order  these  people  out  of  my  premises."  Joseph- 
ine implored  her  to  be  calm. 

"  Be  calm  when  impertinent  intruders  come  into  my 
garden  ?  " 

"  Mother,  they  are  not  intruders." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"They  have  a  right  to  be  in  our  Pleasaunce.  They 
have  bought  the  chateau." 

"  It  is  impossible.  Me  was  to  buy  it  for  us  —  there  is 
some  mistake  —  what  man  would  kill  a  poor  old  woman 
like  me  ?  I  will  speak  to  this  gentleman  :  he  wears  a 
sword.  Soldiers  do  not  trample  on  women.  Ah  !  that 
man." 

The  notary,  attracted  by  her  voice,  was  coming  towards 
her,  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

Raynal  coolly  inspected  the  tree,  and  tapped  it  with 
his  scabbard,  and  left  Perrin  to  do  the  dirty  work.  The 
notary  took  off  his  hat,  and,  with  a  malignant  affectation 
of  respect,  presented  the  baroness  with  a  paper. 

The  poor  old  thing  took  it  with  a  courtesy,  the  effect 
of  habit,  and  read  it  to  her  daughters  as  well  as  her 
emotion  permitted,  and  the  language,  which  was  as  new 
to  her  as  the  dialect  of  Cat  Island  to  Columbus. 

"  Jean  Raynal,  domiciled  by  right,  and  lodging  in  fact  at 
the  ChMeau  of  Beaurepaire,  acting  by  the  pursuit  and  diligence 


WHITE   LIES.  91 

of  Master  Perrin,  notary ;  I,  Guillaume  Le  Gras,  bailiff,  give 
notice  to  Josephine  Aglae  St.  Croix  de  Beaurepaire,  commonly 
called  the  Baroness  de  Beaurepaire,  having  no  known  place  of 
abode " — 

"  Oh  ! " 

"but  lodging  wrongfully  at  the  said  Chateau  of  Beaurepaire, 
that  she  is  warned  to  decamp  within  twenty-four  hours  "  — 

"  To  decamp  ! " 

*'  failing  which  that  she  will  be  thereto  enforced  in  the  manner 
for  that  case  made  and  provided  with  the  aid  of  all  the  officers 
and  agents  of  the  public  force." 

"  Ah  !  no,  messieurs,  pray  do  not  use  force.  I  am 
frightened  enough  already.  I  did  not  know  I  was  doing 
anything  wrong.  I  have  been  here  thirty  years.  But, 
since  Beaurepaire  is  sold,  I  comprehend  perfectly  that  I 
must  go.  It  is  just.  As  you  say,  I  am  not  in  my  own 
house.  I  will  go,  gentlemen,  I  will  go.  Whither  shall 
I  go,  my  children  ?  The  house  where  you  were  born  to 
me  is  ours  no  longer.  Excuse  me,  gentlemen  —  this  is 
nothing  to  you.  Ah  !  sir,  you  have  revenged  yourself 
on  two  weak  women  —  may  Heaven  forgive  you ! " 

The  notary  turned  on  his  heel.  The  poor  baroness, 
all  whose  pride  the  iron  law,  with  its  iron  gripe,  had. 
crushed  into  dismay  and  terror,  appealed  to  him.  "0 
sir !  send  me  from  the  house,  but  not  from  the  soil  where 
my  Henri  is  laid !  is  there  not  in  all  this  domain  a 
corner  where  she  who  was  its  mistress  may  lie  down  and 
die  ?  Where  is  the  new  haron,  that  I  may  ask  this  favor 
of  him  on  my  knees  ?  " 

She  turned  towards  Eaynal  and  seemed  to  be  going 
towards  him  with  outstretched  arms.  But  Kose  checked 
her  with  fervor.  "  Mamma  !  do  not  lower  yourself.  Ask 
nothing  of  these  wretches.  Let  us  lose  all,  but  not  for- 
get ourselves." 


92  WHITE   LIES. 

The  baroness  had  not  her  daughter's  spirit.  Her  very 
person  tottered  under  this  blow.  Josephine  supported 
her,  and  the  next  moment  Aubertin  came  out  and  has- 
tened to  her  side.  Her  head  fell  back ;  wliat  little  strength 
she  had  failed  her ;  she  was  half  lifted,  half  led,  into  the 
house. 

Commandant  Raynal  was  amazed  at  all  this,  and  asked 
what  the  deuce  was  the  matter. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  notary,  "  we  are  used  to  these  little 
scenes  in  our  business." 

''  But  I  am  not,"  replied  the  soldier.  "You  never  told 
me  there  was  to  be  all  this  fuss." 

He  then  dismissed  his  friend  rather  abruptly  and  strode 
up  and  down  the  Pleasaunce.  He  twisted  his  mustaches, 
muttered,  and  ^^ pested,''^  and  was  ill  at  ease.  Accustomed 
to  march  gayly  into  a  town,  and  see  the  regiment,  that 
was  there  before,  marching  gayly  out,  or  vice  versa,  and 
to  strike  tents  twice  a  quarter  at  least,  he  was  little  pre- 
pared for  such  a  scene  as  this.  True,  he  did  not  hear  all 
the  baroness's  words,  but  more  than  one  tone  of  sharp 
distress  reached  him  where  he  stood,  and  the  action 
of  the  whole  scene  was  so  expressive,  there  was  little 
need  of  words.  He  saw  the  tiotice  given ;  the  dismay  it 
caused,  and  the  old  lady  turn  imploringly  towards  him 
with  a  speaking  gesture,  and  above  all  he  saw  her  carried 
away,  half  fainting,  her  hands  clasped,  her  reverend  face 
pale.  He  was  not  a  man  of  quick  sensibilities.  He  did 
not  thoroughly  take  the  scene  in  at  first :  it  grew  upon 
him  afterwards. 

"  Confound  it,"  thought  he,  "  I  am  the  proprietor.  They 
all  say  so.  Instead  of  which  I  feel  like  a  thief.  Fancy 
her  getting  so  fond  of  a  place  as  all  this." 

Presently  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  shortness  of  the 
notice  might  have  much  to  do  with  her  distress.  "These 
notaries/'  said  he  to  himself,  "  understand  nothing  save 


WHITE    LIES.  93 

law :  women  have  piles  of  baggage,  and  can't  strike 
tents  directly  the  order  comes,  as  we  can.  Perhaps  if  I 
were  to  give  them  twenty -four  da3^s  instead  of  hours?  — 
hum  ! " 

With  this  the  commandant  fell  into  a  brown  study. 
Now  each  of  us  has  his  attitude  of  brown  study.  One 
runs  about  the  room  like  hyena  in  his  den  ;  another 
stands  stately  with  folded  arms  (this  one  seldom  thinks 
to  the  purpose) ;  another  sits  cross-legged,  brows  lowered  : 
another  must  put  his  head  into  his  hand,  and  so  keep  it 
up  to  thinking  mark :  another  must  twiddle  a  bit  of 
string,  or  a  key ;  grant  him  this,  he  can  hatch  an  epic. 
This  commandant  must  draw  himself  up  very  straight, 
and  walk  six  paces  and  back  very  slowly,  till  the  problem 
was  solved :  I  suspect  he  had  done  a  good  bit  of  sentinel 
work  in  his  time. 

Now  whilst  he  was  guarding  the  old  oak-tree,  for  all 
the  world  as  if  it  had  been  the  gate  of  the  Tuileries  or 
the  barracks,  Josephine  de  Beaurepaire  came  suddenly 
out  from  the  house  and  crossed  the  Pleasaunce  :  her  hair 
was  in  disorder,  her  manner  wild  :  she  passed  swiftly 
into  the  park. 

Raynal  recognized  her  as  one  of  the  family  ;  and  after 
a  moment's  reflection  followed  her  into  the  park  with 
the  good-natured  intention  of  offering  her  a  month  to 
clear  out  instead  of  a  day. 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  catch  her  :  she  flew.  He 
had  to  take  his  scabbard  in  his  left  hand  and  fairly  run 
after  her.  Before  he  could  catch  her,  she  entered  the 
little  chapel.  He  came  up  and  had  his  foot  on  the  very 
step  to  go  in,  when  he  was  arrested  by  that  lie  heard 
within. 

Josephine  had  thrown  herself  on  her  knees  and  was 
praying  aloud:  praying  to  the  Virgin  with  sighs  and 
sobs  and  all  her  soul:  wrestling  so  in  prayer  with  a  dead 


94  WHITE   LIES. 

saint  as  by  a  strange  perversity  men  cannot  or  will  not 
wrestle  with  Him,  who  alone  can  hear  a  million  prayers 
at  once  from  a  million  different  places,  —  can  realize  and 
be  touched  with  a  sense  of  all  man's  infirmities  in  a  way 
no  single  saint  with  his  partial  experience  of  them  can 
realize  and  be  touched  by  them  ;  who  unasked  suspended 
the  laws  of  nature  that  had  taken  a  stranger's  only  son, 
and  she  a  widow ;  and  wept  at  another  great  human 
sorrow,  while  the  eyes  of  all  the  great  saints  that  stood 
around  it  and  Him  were  dry. 

Well,  the  soldier  stood,  his  right  foot  on  the  step  and 
his  sword  in  his  left  hand,  transfixed :  listening  gravely 
to  the  agony  of  prayer  the  innocent  young  creature 
poured  forth  within  :  — 

"  0  Madonna !  hear  me  :  it  is  for  my  mother's  life. 
She  will  die  —  she  will  die.  You  know  she  cannot 
live  if  she  is  taken  away  from  her  house  and  from  this 
holy  place  where  she  prays  to  you  this  many  years. 
0  Queen  of  Heaven  !  put  out  your  hand  to  us  unfortu- 
nates !  Virgin,  hear  a  virgin :  mother,  listen  to  a  child 
who  prays  for  her  mother's  life !  The  doctor  says  she 
will  not  live  away  from  here.  She  is  too  old  to  wander 
over  the  world.  Let  them  drive  us  forth :  we  are  young, 
but  not  her,  mother,  oh,  not  her !  Forgive  the  cruel  men 
that  do  this  thing !  —  they  are  like  those  who  crucified 
your  Son  —  they  know  not  what  they  are  doing.  But 
you,  Queen  of  Heaven,  you  know  all ;  and,  sweet  mother, 
if  you  have  kind  sentiments  towards  me,  poor  Josephine, 
ah  !  show  them  now :  for  you  know  that  it  was  I  who 
insulted  that  wicked  notary,  and  it  is  out  of  hatred  to 
me  he  has  sold  our  beloved  house  to  a  hard  stranger. 
Look  down  on  me,  a  child  who  loves  her  mother,  yet 
will  destroy  her  unless  you  pity  me  and  help  me.  Oh  ! 
what  shall  I  say  ?  —  what  shall  I  do  ?  mercy  !  mercy  ! 
for  my  poor  mother,  for  me  ! " 


WHITE  LIES.  95 

Here  her  \itterance  was  broken  by  sobs. 

The  soldier  withdrew  his  foot  quietly.  Her  words 
had  knocked  against  his  very  breast-bone.  He  marched 
slowly  to  and  fro  before  the  chapel,  upright  as  a  dart, 
and  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  and  actually  pale :  for  even  our 
nerves  have  their  habits;  a  woman's  passionate  grief 
shook  him  as  a  cannon  fired  over  his  head  could  not. 

Josephine  little  thought  who  was  her  sentinel.  She 
came  to  the  door  at  last,  and  there  he  was  marching 
backwards  and  forwards,  upright  and  stiff.  She  gave  a 
faint  scream  and  drew  back  with  a  shudder  at  the  sight 
of  their  persecutor.  She  even  felt  faintish  at  him,  as 
women  will  in  such  cases. 

Kot  being  very  quick  at  interpreting  emotion,  Raynal 
noticed  her  alarm,  but  not  her  repugnance  ;  he  saluted 
her  with  military  precision  by  touching  his  cap  as  only 
a  soldier  can,  and  said  rather  gently  for  him,  "  A  word 
with  you,  mademoiselle." 

She  replied  only  by  trembling. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Kaynal,  in  a  tone  not 
very  reassuring.     "  I  propose  an  armistice." 

"I  am  at  your  disposal,  sir,"  said  Josephine,  now 
assuming  a  calmness  that  was  belied  by  the  long  swell 
of  her  heaving  bosom, 

"  Of  course  you  look  on  me  as  an  enemy." 

"  How  can  I  do  otherwise,  sir  ?  yet  perhaps  I  ought 
not.  You  did  not  know  us.  You  just  wanted  an  estate, 
I  suppose  —  and  —  oh  !  " 

"  Well,  don't  cry ;  and  let  us  come  to  the  point,  since 
I  am  a  man  of  few  words." 

"  If  you  please,  sir.     My  mother  may  miss  me." 

"Well,  I  was  in  position  on  your  flank  when  the 
notary  delivered  his  fire.  And  I  saw  the  old  woman's 
distress." 

"  Ah,  sir ! " 


96  WHITE   LIES. 

"When  you  eamo  flying  out  I  followed  to  say  a  good 
word  to  you.  I  could  not  catch  you.  T  listened  while 
you  prayed  to  the  Virgin.  That  was  not  a  soldier-like 
trick,  you  will  say.     I  confess  it." 

"  It  matters  little,  sir,  and  you  heard  nothing  I  blush 
for." 

"  No !  by  St.  Denis ;  quite  the  contrary.  Well,  to  the 
point.     Young  lady,  you  love  your  mother." 

"  AVhat  has  she  on  earth  now  but  her  children's 
love  ?  " 

"■  Now  look  here,  young  lady,  I  had  a  mother ;  I  loved 
her  in  my  humdrum  way  very  dearly.  She  promised  me 
faithfully  not  to  die  till  I  should  be  a  colonel ;  and  she 
went  and  died  before  I  was  a  commandant,  even ;  just 
before,  too." 

"  Then  I  pity  you,"  murmured  Josephine ;  and  her 
soft  purple  eye  began  to  dwell  on  him  with  less  repug- 
nance. 

"  Thank  you  for  that  word,  my  good  young  lady,"  said 
Raynal.  "  Now,  I  declare,  you  are  the  first  that  has  said 
that  word  to  me  about  my  losing  the  true  friend,  that 
nursed  me  on  her  knee,  and  pinched  and  pinched  to 
make  a  man  of  me.  I  should  like  to  tell  you  about  her 
and  me." 

"I  shall  feel  honored,"  said  Josephine,  politely,  but 
with  considerable  restraint. 

Then  he  told  her  all  about  how  he  had  vexed  her  when 
he  was  a  boy,  and  gone  for  a  soldier,  though  she  was  all 
for  trade,  and  how  he  had  been  the  more  anxious  to  see 
her  enjoy  his  honors  and  success.  "  And,  mademoiselle," 
said  he,  appealingly,  "the  day  this  epaulet  was  put  on 
my  shoulder  in  Italy,  she  died  in  Paris.  Ah !  how  could 
you  have  the  heart  to  do  that,  my  old  woman  ?  " 

The  soldier's  mustache  quivered,  and  he  turned  away 
brusquely,  and  took  several  steps.     Then  he  came  back 


WHITE    LIES.  97 

to  Josephine,  and  to  his  infinite  surprise  saw  that  her 
purple  eyes  were  tliick  with  tears.  "  What  ?  you  are 
■within  an  inch  of  crying  for  my  mother,  you  who  have 
your  own  trouble  at  this  hour." 

"  Monsieur,  our  situations  are  so  alike,  I  may  well 
spare  some  little  sympathy  for  your  misfortune." 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  young  lady.  Well,  then,  to  busi- 
ness ;  while  you  were  praying  to  the  Virgin,  I  was  saying 
a  word  or  two  for  my  part  to  her  who  is  no  more." 

''  Sir ! " 

"Oh!  it  was  nothing  beautiful  like  the  things  j'ou 
said  to  the  other.  Can  I  turn  phrases  ?  I  saw  her 
behind  her  little  counter  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix ;  for 
she  is  a  woman  of  the  people,  is  my  mother.  I  saw 
myself  come  to  the  other  side  of  the  counter,  and  I  said, 
'Look  here,  mother,  here  is  the  devil  to  pay  about  this 
new  house.  The  old  woman  talks  of  d3'ing  if  we  take 
her  from  her  home,  and  the  young  one  weeps  and  prays 
to  all  the  saints  in  paradise ;  what  shall  we  do,  eh  ? ' 
Then  I  thought  my  old  woman  said  to  me,  'Jean,  you 
are  a  soldier,  a  sort  of  vagabond ;  what  do  you  want  with 
a  house  in  France  ?  you  who  are  always  in  a  tent  in 
Italy  or  Austria,  or  who  knows  where.  Have  you  the 
courage  to  give  honest  folk  so  much  pain  for  a  caprice  ? 
Come  now,'  says  she,  '  the  lady  is  of  my  age,  say  you, 
and  I  can't  keep  your  fine  house,  because  God  has  willed 
it  otherwise  ;  so  give  her  my  place ;  so  then  you  can 
fancy  it  is  me  you  have  set  down  at  your  hearth :  that 
will  warm  your  heart  up  a  bit,  you  little  scamp,'  said 
my  old  woman  in  her  rough  way.  She  was  not  well- 
bred  like  you,  mademoiselle.  A  woman  of  the  people, 
nothing  more." 

''  She  was  a  woman  of  God's  own  making,  if  she  was 
like  that,"  cried  Josephine,  the  tears  now  running  down 
her  cheeks. 


98  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Ah,  that  she  was,  she  was.  So  between  her  and  me 
it  is  settled  —  what  are  you  crying  iov  now?  why,  you 
have  won  the  day ;  the  field  is  yours ;  your  mother  and 
you  remain ;  I  decamp."  He  whipped  his  scabbard  up 
with  his  left  hand,  and  was  going  off  without  another 
word,  if  Josephine  had  not  stopped  him. 

"  But,  sir,  what  am  I  to  think  ?  what  am  I  to  hope  ? 
it  is  impossible  that  in  this  short  interview  —  and  we 
must  not  forget  what  is  due  to  you.  You  have  bought 
the  Estate." 

"  True ;  well,  we  will  talk  over  that,  to-morrow ;  but 
being  turned  out  of  the  house,  that  was  the  bayonet 
thrust  to  the  old  lady.  So  you  run  in  and  put  her  heart 
at  rest  about  it.  Tell  her  that  she  may  live  and  die  in 
this  house  for  Jean  Raynal ;  and  tell  her  about  the  old 
woman  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix." 

''  God  bless  you,  Jean  Raynal ! "  cried  Josephine, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  said  he,  peremptorily. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  and  she  darted  towards  the  chateau. 

But  when  she  had  taken  three  steps  she  paused,  and 
seemed  irresolute.  She  turned,  and  in  a  moment  she 
had  glided  to  Raynal  again  and  had  taken  his  hand 
before  he  could  hinder  her,  and  pressed  two  velvet  lips 
on  it,  and  was  away  again,  her  cheeks  scarlet  at  what 
she  had  done,  and  her  wet  eyes  beaming  with  joy.  She 
skimmed  the  grass  like  a  lapwing;  you  would  have 
taken  her  at  this  minute  for  Rose,  or  for  Virgil's  Camilla ; 
at  the  gate  she  turned  an  instant  and  clasped  her  hands 
together,  with  such  a  look,  to  show  Raynal  she  blessed 
him  again,  then  darted  into  the  house. 

"Aha,  my  lady,"  said  he,  as  he  watched  her  fly, 
"behold  you  changed  a  little  since  you  came  out."  He 
was  soon  on  the  high  road  marching  down  to  the  town 
at  a  great  rate,  his  sword  clanking,  and  thus  ran  his 


WHITE   LIES.  99 

thoughts :  "  This  does  one  good ;  you  are  right,  my  old 
woman.  Your  son's  bosom  feels  as  warm  as  toast. 
Long  live  the  five-franc  pieces !  And  they  pretend 
money  cannot  make  a  fellow  happy.  They  lie ;  it  is 
because  they  do  not  know  how  to  spend  it." 

Meantime  at  the  chateau,  as  still  befalls  in  emergen- 
cies and  trials,  the  master  spirit  came  out  and  took  its 
real  place.  Eose  was  now  the  mistress  of  Beaurepaire ; 
she  set  Jacintha,  and  Dard,  and  the  doctor,  to  pack  up 
everything  of  value  in  the  house.  "  Do  it  this  moment !  " 
she  cried ;  "  once  that  notary  gets  possession  of  the 
house,  it  may  be  too  late.  Enough  of  folly  and  helpless- 
ness. We  have  fooled  away  house  and  lands  ;  our  mov- 
ables shall  not  follow  them." 

The  moment  she  had  set  the  others  to  work,  she  wrote 
a  single  line  to  Riviere  to  tell  him  the  chateau  and  lands 
were  sold,  and  would  he  come  to  Beaurepaire  at  once  ? 
She  ran  with  it  herself  to  Bigot's  auberge,  the  nearest 
post-office,  and  then  back  to  comfort  her  mother. 

The  baroness  was  seated  in  her  arm-chair,  moaning 
and  wringing  her  hands,  and  Kose  was  nursing  and 
soothing  her,  and  bathing  her  temples  with  her  last  drop 
of  eiui  de  Cologne,  and  trying  in  vain  to  put  some  of  her 
own  courage  into  her,  when  in  came  Josephine  radiant 
with  happiness,  crying  "Joy!  joy!  joy!"  and  told  her 
strange  tale,  with  this  difference,  that  she  related  her 
own  share  in  it  briefly  and  coldly,  and  was  more  eloquent 
than  I  about  the  strange  soldier's  goodness,  and  the 
interest  her  mother  had  awakened  in  his  heart.  And 
she  told  about  the  old  woman  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix, 
her  rugged  phrases,  and  her  noble,  tender  heart.  The 
baroness,  deaf  to  Rose's  consolations,  brightened  up 
directly  at  Josephine's  news,  and  at  her  glowing  face,  as 
she  knelt  pouring  the  good  news,  and  hope,  and  comfort, 
point  blank  into  her.     But  Rose  chilled  them  both. 


100  "WHITK   LIES. 

"It  is  a  generous  offer,"  said  slie,  "but  one  we  cannot 
accept.  We  cannot  live  under  so  great  an  obligation. 
Is  all  the  generosity  to  be  on  the  side  of  this  Bonapart- 
ist  ?  Are  we  noble  in  name  only  ?  What  would  our 
father  have  said  to  such  a  proposal  ?  " 

Josephine  hung  her  head.     The  baroness  groaned. 

"No,  mother,"  continued  Rose:  "let  house  and  land 
go,  but  honor  and  true  nobility  remain." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  you  are  cruel  to  me.  Rose." 

"  Mamma,"  cried  the  enthusiastic  girl,  "  we  need  de- 
pend on  no  one.  Josephine  and  I  have  youth  and 
spirit." 

"But  no  money." 

"We  have  jjlenty  of  jewels,  and  pictures,  and  mov- 
ables.    We  can  take  a  farm." 

"  A  farm  ! "  shrieked  the  baroness. 

"  Why,  his  uncle  has  a  farm,  and  we  have  had  recourse 
to  him  for  help :  better  a  farmhouse  than  an  almshouse, 
though  that  almshouse  were  a  palace  instead  of  a 
chateau." 

Josephine  winced  and  held  up  her  hand  deprecatingly. 
The  baroness  paled :  it  was  a  terrible  stroke  of  language 
to  come  from  her  daughter.  She  said  sternly,  "  There 
is  no  answer  to  that.  We  were  born  nobles,  let  us  die 
farmers  :  only  permit  me  to  die  first." 

"  Forgive  me,  mother,"  said  Rose,  kneeling.  "  I  was 
wrong ;  it  is  for  me  to  obey  you,  not  to  dictate.  I  speak 
no  more."  And,  after  kissing  her  mother  and  Josephine, 
she  crept  away,  but  she  left  her  words  sticking  in  both 
their  consciences. 

"i7/s  uncle,"  said  the  shrewd  old  lady.  "She  is  no 
longer  a  child;  and  she  says  his  uncle.  This  makes  me 
half  suspect  it  is  her  that  dear  boy  —  Josephine,  tell  me 
the  truth,  which  of  you  is  it?" 

"Dear  mother,  who  should  it  be?  they  are  nearly  of 


WHITE   LIES.  101 

an  age :  and  what  man  would  not  love  our  sweet  Rose, 
that  had  eyes  or  a  heart  ?  " 

The  baroness  sighed  deeply  ;  and  was  silent.  After 
awhile  she  said,  "The  moment  they  have  a  lover,  he 
detaches  their  hearts  from  their  poor  old  mother.  She 
is  no  longer  what  my  Josephine  is  to  me." 

"  Mamma,  she  is  my  superior.  I  see  it  more  and  more 
every  day.  She  is  proud :  she  is  just ;  she  looks  at 
both  sides.  As  for  me,  I  am  too  apt  to  see  only  what 
will  please  those  I  love." 

"And  that  is  the  daughter  for  me,"  cried  the  poor 
baroness,  opening  her  arms  wide  to  her. 

The  next  morning  when  they  were  at  breakfast,  in 
came  Jacintha  to  say  the  officer  was  in  the  dining-room 
and  wanted  to  speak  with  the  young  lady  he  talked  to 
yesterday.  Josephine  rose  and  went  to  him.  "  Well, 
mademoiselle,"  said  he  gayly,  "  the  old  woman  was  right. 
Here  I  have  just  got  my  orders  to  march :  to  leave  France 
in  a  month.  A  pretty  business  it  would  have  been  if  I 
had  turned  your  mother  out.  So  you  see  there  is  nothing 
to  hinder  you  from  living  here." 

"  In  your  house,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Forgive  us.  But  we  feel  that  would  be  unjust  to 
you,  humiliating  to  us :  the  poor  are  sometimes  proud." 

"Of  course  they  are,"  said  Raynal:  "and  I  don't  want 
to  offend  your  pride.  Confound  the  house :  wliy  did  I 
go  and  buy  it?  It  is  no  use  to  me  except  to  give  pain 
to  worthy  people."  He  then,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
asked  her  if  the  matter  could  not  be  arranged  by  some 
third  party,  a  mutual  friend.  "Then  again,"  said  he, 
"  I  don't  know  any  friend  of  yours." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Josephine  ;  "  we  have  one  friend,  who 
knows  you,  and  esteems  you  highly." 

She  wanted  to  name  Edouard ;  but  she  hesitated,  and 


102  WHITE   LIES. 

asked  her  conscience  if  it  was  fair  to  name  him  :  and 
while  she  blushed  and  hesitated,  lo  and  behold  a  rival 
referee  hove  in  sight.  Raynal  saw  him,  suddenly  opened 
a  window,  and  shouted,  "  Hallo  !  come  in  here  :  you  are 
wanted." 

Perrin  had  ridden  up  to  complete  the  exodus  of  the  De 
Beaurepaires,  and  was  strolling  about  inspecting  the 
premises  he  had  expelled  them  from. 

Here  was  a  pretty  referee  ! 

Josephine  almost  screamed  —  "  What  are  you  doing  ? 
that  is  our  enemy,  our  bitterest  enemy.  He  has  only 
sold  you  the  estate  to  spite  us,  not  for  the  love  of  you. 
I  had  —  we  had  —  we  mortified  his  vanity.  It  was  not 
our  fault:  he  is  a  viper.  Sir,  pray,  pray,  pray  be  on 
your  guard  against  his  counsels." 

These  words  spoken  with  rare  fire  and  earnestness  car- 
ried conviction :  but  it  was  too  late  to  recall  the  invita- 
tion. The  notary  entered  the  room,  and  was  going  to 
bow  obsequiously  to  Raynal,  when  he  caught  sight  of 
Josephine,  and  almost  started.  Raynal,  after  Josephine's 
warning,  was  a  little  at  a  loss  how  to  make  him  avail- 
able ;  and  even  that  short  delay  gave  the  notary's  one 
foible  time  to  lead  him  into  temptation.  "  Our  foibles 
are  our  manias." 

"  So,"  said  he, "  you  have  taken  possession,  commandant. 
These  military  men  are  prompt,  are  they  not,  mademoi- 
selle ?  " 

"Do  not  address  yourself  to  me,  sir,  I  beg,"  said 
Josephine  quietly. 

Perrin  kept  his  self-command.  "It  is  only  as  Com- 
mandant Raynal's  agent  I  presume  to  address  so  distin- 
guished a  lady :  in  that  character  I  must  inform  you  that 
whatever  movables  you  have  removed  are  yours  :  those 
we  find  in  the  house  on  entering  we  keep." 

"Come,  come,  not  so  fast,"  cried  Raynal ;  "bother  the 
chairs  and  tables  !  that  is  not  the  point." 


WHITE   LIES.  103 

"Commandant,"  said  the  notary  with  dignity,  "have  I 
done  anything  to  merit  this  ?  have  I  served  your  inter- 
ests so  ill  that  you  withdraw  your  confidence  from  me  ?  " 

"No,  no,  my  good  fellow;  but  you  exceed  your  powers. 
Just  now  1  want  you  to  take  orders,  not  give  them." 

"That  is  only  just,"  said  Perrin,  "and  I  recall  my 
hasty  remark  :  excuse  the  susceptibility  of  a  professional 
man,  who  is  honored  with  the  esteem  of  his  clients ;  and 
favor  me  with  your  wishes." 

"  All  right,"  said  Raynal  heartily.  "  Well,  then  —  I 
want  mademoiselle  and  her  family  to  stay  here  while 
1  go  to  Egypt  with  the  First  Consul.  Mademoiselle 
makes  difficulties ;   it  offends  her  delicacy." 

"  Comedy  ! "  said  the  notary  contemptuously. 

"Though  her  mother's  life  depends  on  her  staying 
here." 

"  Comedy  ! "  said  Perrin.     Raynal  frowned. 

"  Her  pride  (begging  her  pardon)  is  greater  than  her 
affection." 

"  Farce ! " 

"  I  have  pitched  upon  you  to  reconcile  the  two." 

"Then  you  have  pitched  upon  the  wrong  man,"  said 
Perrin  bluntly.  He  added  obsequiously,  "I  am  too 
much  your  friend.  She  has  been  talking  you  over,  no 
doubt ;  but  you  have  a  friend,  an  Ulysses,  who  is  deaf 
to  the  siren's  voice.  I  will  be  no  party  to  such  a  trans- 
action. I  will  not  co-operate  to  humbug  my  friend  and 
rob  him  of  his  rights." 

If  Josephine  was  inferior  to  the  notary  in  petty 
sharpness,  she  was  his  superior  in  the  higher  kinds  of 
sagacity ;  and  particularly  in  instinctive  perception  of 
character.  Her  eye  flashed  with  delight  at  the  line 
Perrin  was  now  taking  with  Raynal.  The  latter  speedily 
justified  her  expectations :  he  just  told  Perrin  to  be  off, 
and  send  him  a  more  accommodating  notary. 


104  WHITE   LIES. 

''  A  more  accommodating  notary ! "  screamed  Perrin, 

stung  to  madness  by  this  reproach,  "  There  is  not  a 
more  accommodating  notary  in  Europe.  Ungrateful  man ! 
is  this  tlie  return  for  all  my  zeal,  my  integrity,  my 
unselfishness  ?  Is  there  another  agent  in  the  world  who 
would  have  let  such  a  bargain  as  Beaurepaire  fall  into 
your  hands  ?  It  serves  me  right  for  deviating  from  the 
rules  of  business.     Send  me  another  agent  —  oh  !" 

The  honest  soldier  was  confused.  The  lawyer's  elo- 
quence overpowered  him.  He  felt  guilty.  Josephine 
saw  his  simplicity,  and  made  a  cut  with  a  woman's  two- 
edged  sword.  "  Sir,"  said  she  coolly,  "  do  you  not  see  it 
is  an  affair  of  money  ?  This  is  his  way  of  saying,  Pay 
me  handsomely  for  so  unusual  a  commission." 

"  And  I'll  pay  him  double,"  cried  Raynal,  catching  the 
idea ;  "  don't  be  alarmed,  I'll  pay  you  for  it." 

"  And  my  zeal,  my  devotion  ?  " 

"  Put  'em  in  figures." 

*'  And  my  prob —  ?  " 

"  Add  it  up." 

"  And  my  integ —  ?  " 

"  Add  them  together :  and  don't  bother  me." 

"  I  see !  I  see  !  my  poor  soldier.  You  are  no  match 
for  a  woman's  tongue." 

"Nor  for  a  notary's.  Go  to  h — ,  and  send  in  your 
bill ! "  roared  the  soldier  in  a  fury.  "  Well,  will  you  go  ?  " 
and  he  marched  at  him. 

The  notary  scuttled  out,  with  something  between  a 
snarl  and  a  squeak. 

Josephine  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  inquired  Raynal. 
"  Not  crying  again,  surely  ! " 

"Me!  I  never  cry  —  hardly.  I  hid  my  face  because 
I  could  not  help  laughing.  You  frightened  me,  sir," 
said  she:  then  very  demurely,  "I  was  afraid  you  were 
going  to  beat  him."    . 


WHITE   LIES.  105 

"!N"o,  no ;  a  good  soldier  never  leathers  a  civilian  if  he 
can  possibly  help  it ;  it  looks  so  bad ;  and  before  a  lady  ! " 

"  Oh,  I  would  have  forgiven  you,  monsieur,"  said 
Josephine  benignly,  and  something  like  a  little  sun 
danced  in  her  eye. 

"Now,  mademoiselle,  since  my  referee  has  proved  a 
pig,  it  is  your  turn.     Choose  you  a  mutual  friend." 

Josephine  hesitated.  "  Ours  is  so  young.  You  know  him 
very  well.  You  are  doubtless  the  commandant  of  whom 
I  once  heard  him  speak  with  such  admiration :  his  name 
is  Riviere,  Edouard  Riviere." 

"  Know  him  ?  he  is  my  best  officer,  out  and  out."  And 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  took  Edouard's  present 
address,  and  accepted  that  youthful  Daniel  as  their  ref- 
eree ;  then  looked  at  his  watch  and  marched  off  to  his 
public  duties  with  sabre  clanking  at  his  heels. 

The  notary  went  home  gnashing  his  teeth.  His  sweet 
revenge  was  turned  to  wormwood  this  day.  Raynal's 
parting  commissions  rang  in  his  ear ;  in  his  bitter  mood 
the  want  of  logical  sequence  in  the  two  orders  disgusted 
him. 

So  he  inverted  them. 

He  sent  in  a  thundering  bill  the  very  next  morning, 
but  postponed  the  other  commission  till  his  dying  day. 

As  for  Josephine,  she  came  into  the  drawing-room 
beaming  with  love  and  happiness,  and  after  kissing  both 
her  mother  and  Rose  with  gentle  violence,  she  let  them 
know  the  strange  turn  things  had  taken. 

And  she  whispered  to  Rose,  "  Only  think,  your  Edouard 
to  be  our  referee  ! " 

Rose  blushed  and  bent  over  her  work ;  and  wondered 
how  Edouard  would  discharge  so  grave  an  office. 

The  matter  approached  a  climax  ;  for,  as  the  reader  ia 
aware,  Edouard  was  hourly  expected  at  Beaurepaire. 

He  did  not  come  ;  but  it  was  not  his  fault.     On  receiv 


106  WHITE   LIES. 

ing  Rose's  letter  he  declined  to  stay  another  hour  at  his 
uncle's. 

He  flung  himself  on  his  horse ;  and,  before  he  was  well 
settled  on  the  stirrups,  the  animal  shied  violently  at  a 
wheelbarrow  some  fool  had  left  there ;  and  threw  Edouard 
on  the  stones  of  the  courtyard.  He  jumped  up  in  a 
moment  and  laughed  at  Marthe's  terror;  meantime  a 
farm-servant  caught  the  nag  and  brought  him  back  to 
his  work. 

But  when  Edouard  went  to  put  his  hand  on  the  saddle, 
he  found  it  would  not  obey  him,  "  Wait  a  minute,"  said 
he ;  "  my  arm  is  benumbed." 

"  Let  me  see  ! "  said  the  farmer,  and  examined  the  limb 
himself;  "benumbed?  yes;  and  no  wonder.  Jacques, 
get  on  the  brute  and  ride  for  the  surgeon." 

"  Are  you  mad,  uncle  ?  "  cried  Edouard.  "  I  can't  spare 
my  horse,  and  I  want  no  surgeon ;  it  will  be  well  directly." 

"  It  will  be  worse  before  it  is  better." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  uncle ;  it  is  only  numbed, 
ah !  it  hurts  when  I  rub  it." 

"  It  is  worse  than  numbed,  boy  ;  it  is  broken." 

"  Broken  ?  nonsense  :  "  and  he  looked  at  it  in  piteous 
bewilderment :  "  how  can  it  be  broken  ?  it  does  not  hurt 
except  when  I  touch  it." 

"It  will  hurt:  I  know  all  about  it.  I  broke  mine 
fifteen  years  ago  :  fell  off  a  haystack." 

"  Oh,  how  unfortunate  I  am  ! "  cried  Edouard,  piteously. 
"  But  I  will  go  to  Beaurepaire  all  the  same.  I  can  have 
the  thing  mended  there,  as  well  as  here." 

"  You  will  go  to  bed,"  said  the  old  man,  quietly ;  "  that 
is  where  yoiCll  go." 

"  I'll  go  to  blazes  sooner,"  yelled  the  young  one. 

The  old  man  made  a  signal  to  his  myrmidons,  whom 
Marthe's  cries  had  brought  around,  and  four  stout  fellows 
took  hold  of  Edouard  by  the  legs  and  the  left  shoulder 


WHITE   LIES.  107 

and  carried  him  up-stairs  raging  and  kicking ;  and  de- 
posited  him  on  a  bed. 

Presently  he  began  to  feel  faint,  and  so  more  reason- 
able. They  cut  his  coat  off,  and  put  him  in  a  loose 
wrapper,  and  after  considerable  delay  the  surgeon  came, 
and  set  his  arm  skilfully,  and  behold  this  ardent  spirit 
caged.  He  chafed  and  fretted  sadly.  Fortitude  was  not 
his  forte. 

It  was  tAvo  days  after  his  accident.  He  was  lying  on 
his  back,  environed  by  slops  and  cursing  his  evil  fate, 
and  fretting  his  soul  out  of  its  fleshly  prison,  when  sud- 
denly he  heard  a  cheerful  trombone  saying  three  words 
to  Marthe,  then  came  a  clink-clank,  and  Marthe  ushered 
into  the  sickroom  the  Commandant  Eaynal.  The  sick 
man  raised  himself  in  bed,  with  great  surprise  and  joy. 

"  0  commandant !  this  is  kind  to  come  and  see  your 
poor  officer  in  purgatory." 

"  Ah,"  cried  Eaynal,  ''  you  see  I  know  what  it  is.  I 
have  been  chained  down  by  the  arm,  and  the  leg,  and  all : 
it  is  deadly  tiresome." 

"  Tiresome !  it  is  —  it  is  —  oh,  dear  commandant.  Heaven 
bless  you  for  coming ! " 

"Ta!  ta!  ta!     I  am  come  on  my  own  business." 

"  All  the  better.  I  have  nothing  to  do ;  that  is  what 
kills  me.     I'm  eating  my  own  heart." 

''  Cannibal !  Well,  my  lad,  since  you  are  in  that  humor, 
cheer  up,  for  I  bring  you  a  job,  and  a  tough  one ;  it  has 
puzzled  me." 

"  What  is  it,  commandant  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

"Well,  do  you  know  a  house  and  a  family  called 
Beaurepaire  ?  " 

"  Do  I  know  Beaurepaire  ?  " 

And  the  pale  youth  turned  very  red  ;  and  stared  with 
awe  at  this  wizard  of  a  commandant.  He  thought  he 
was  going  to  be  called  over  the  coals  for  frequenting  a 


108  WHITE   LIES. 

disaffected  family.  "Well,"  said  Kaynal,  "I  have  been 
and  bought  this  Beaurepaire." 

Edouard  uttered  a  loud  exclamatiou.  "  It  was  you 
bought  it !  she  never  told  me  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  Raynal,  "  I  am  the  culprit ;  and  we  have 
fixed  on  you  to  undo  my  work  without  hurting  their  pride 
too  much,  poor  souls ;  but  let  us  begin  with  the  facts." 

Then  Raynal  told  him  my  story  after  his  fashion.  Of 
course  I  shall  not  go  and  print  his  version ;  you  might 
like  his  concise  way  better  than  my  verbose ;  and  I'm 
not  here  to  hold  up  any  man's  coat-tails.  Short  as  he 
made  it,  Edouard's  eyes  were  moist  more  than  once ;  and 
at  the  end  he  caught  Raynal's  hand  and  kissed  it.  Then 
he  asked  time  to  reflect ;  "  for,"  said  he,  "  I  must  try  and 
be  just." 

"  I'll  give  you  an  hour,"  said  Raynal,  with  an  air  of 
grand  munificence.  The  only  treasure  he  valued  was 
time. 

In  less  than  an  hour  Edouard  had  solved  the  knot,  to 
his  entire  satisfaction ;  he  even  gave  the  commandant  par- 
ticular instructions  for  carrying  out  his  sovereign  decree. 
Raynal  received  these  orders  from  his  subordinate  with 
that  simplicity  which  formed  part  of  his  amazing  charac- 
ter, and  rode  home  relieved  of  all  responsibility  in  the 
matter. 

Commandant  Raynal  to  Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaike. 

Mademoiselle,  —  Before  I  could  find  time  to  wa-ite  to  our 
referee,  news  came  in  that  he  had  just  broken  his  arm  ;  — 

"  Oh  !  oh,  dear !  our  poor  Edouard  ! " 

And  if  poor  Edouard  had  seen  the  pale  faces,  and 
heard  the  faltering  accents,  it  would  have  reconciled  him 
to  his  broken  arm  almost.  This  hand-grenade  the  com- 
mandant had  dropped  so  coolly  among  them,  it  was  a 
long  while  ere  they  could  recover  from  it  enough  to  read 
the  rest  of  the  letter,  — 


WHITE   LIES.  109 

so  r  rode  over  to  him,  and  found  him  on  his  back,  fretting  for 
want  of  something  to  do.  I  told  him  the  whole  story.  He 
undertook  the  business.  I  have  received  his  instructions,  and 
next  week  shall  be  at  his  quarters  to  clear  off  his  arrears  of 
business,  and  make  acquaintance  with  all  your  family,  if  they 
permit. 

Rayxal. 

As  the  latter  part  of  this  letter  seemed  to  require  a 
reply,  the  baroness  wrote  a  polite  note,  and  Jacintha 
sent  Dard  to  leave  it  for  the  commandant  at  Eiviere's 
lodgings.  But  first  they  all  sat  down  and  wrote  kind 
and  pitying  and  soothing  letters  to  Edouard.  Need  I 
say  these  letters  fell  upon  him  like  balm  ? 

They  all  inquired  carelessly  in  their  postscripts  what 
he  had  decided  as  their  referee.  He  replied  mysteriously 
that  they  would  know  that  in  a  week  or  two.  Meantime, 
all  he  thought  it  prudent  to  tell  them  was  that  he  had 
endeavored  to  be  just  to  both  parties. 

''Little  solemn  puppy,"  said  Eose,  and  was  racked  with 
curiosity. 

Next  week  Eaynal  called  on  the  baroness.  She  received 
him  alone.  They  talked  about  Madame  Eaynal.  The 
next  day  he  dined  with  the  whole  party,  and  the  com- 
mandant's manners  were  the  opposite  of  what  the  baron- 
ess had  inculcated.  But  she  had  a  strong  prejudice  in 
his  favor.  Had  her  feelings  been  the  other  way  his 
hnisqiierie  would  have  shocked  her.  It  amused  her.  If 
people's  hearts  are  with  you,  that  for  their  heads  ! 

He  came  every  day  for  a  week,  chatted  with  the  baron- 
ess, walked  with  the  young  ladies ;  and  when  after  work 
he  came  over  in  the  evening,  Eose  used  to  cross-examine 
him,  and  out  came  such  descriptions  of  battles  and  sieges, 
such  heroism  and  such  simplicity  mixed,  as  made  the 
evening  pass  delightfully.  On  these  occasions  the  young 
ladies  fixed  their  glowing  eyes  on  him,  and  drank  in  his 


110  WHITE  LIES. 

character  as  well  as  his  narrative,  in  which  were  fewer 
"I's"  than  in  anything  of  the  sort  you  ever  read  or 
heard. 

At  length  Kose  contrived  to  draw  him  aside,  and,  hid- 
ing her  curiosity  under  feigned  nonchalance,  asked  him 
what  the  referee  had  decided.  He  told  her  that  was  a 
secret  for  the  present. 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Rose,  "  not  from  me.  Edouard  and 
I  have  no  secrets." 

"Come,  that's  good,"  said  Raynal.  "Why,  you  are 
the  very  one  he  warned  me  against  the  most ;  said  you 
were  as  curious  as  Mother  Eve,  and  as  sharp  as  her 
needle." 

"Then  he  is  a  little  scurrilous  traitor,"  cried  Rose, 
turning  very  red.  "'  So  that  is  how  he  talks  of  me  behind 
my  back,  and  calls  me  an  angel  to  my  face ;  I'll  pay  him 
for  this.  Do  tell  me,  commandant;  never  mind  what 
he  says." 

"  What !  disobey  orders  ?  " 

"  Orders  ?  to  you  from  that  boy  !  " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Raynal,  "  for  that  matter,  we  soldiers  are 
used  to  command  one  moment,  and  obey  the  next." 

In  a  word,  this  military  pedant  was  impracticable,  and 
Rose  gave  him  up  in  disgust,  and  began  to  call  up  a 
sulky  look  when  the  other  two  sang  his  praises.  For 
the  old  lady  pronounced  him  charming,  and  Josephine 
said  he  was  a  man  of  crystal ;  never  said  a  word  he  did 
not  mean,  and  she  wished  she  was  like  him.  But  the 
baroness  thought  this  was  going  a  little  too  far. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  she  hastily;  "he  is  a  man,  a 
thorough  man.  He  would  make  an  intolerable  woman. 
A  fine  life  if  one  had  a  parcel  of  women  about,  all  blurt- 
ing out  their  real  minds  every  moment,  and  never  smooth- 
ing matters." 

"  Mamma,  what  a  horrid  picture  !  "  chuckled  Rose. 


WHITE   LIES.  Ill 

She  then  proposed  that  at  his  next  visit  they  should 
all  three  make  an  earnest  appeal  to  him  to  let  them 
know  what  Edouard  had  decided. 

But  Josephine  begged  to  be  excused,  feared  it  would 
be  hardly  delicate ;  and  said  languidly  that  for  her  part 
she  felt  they  were  in  good  hands,  and  prescribed  patience. 
The  baroness  acquiesced,  and  poor  Rose  and  her  curiosity 
were  baffled  on  every  side. 

At  last,  one  fine  day,  her  torments  were  relieved  with- 
out any  further  exertion  on  her  part.  Jacintha  bounced 
into  the  drawing-room  with  a  notice  that  the  command- 
ant wanted  to  speak  to  Josephine  a  minute  out  in  the 
rieasaunce. 

"  How  droll  he  is,"  said  Rose ;  "  fancy  sending  in  for 
a  young  lady  like  that.  Don't  go,  Josephine ;  how  he 
would  stare." 

"My  dear,  1  no  more  dare  disobey  him  than  if  I  was 
one  of  his  soldiers."  And  she  laid  down  her  work,  and 
rose  quietly  to  do  what  she  was  bid. 

"  Well,"  said  Rose,  superciliously,  "  go  to  your  com- 
manding officer.  And,  0  Josephine,  if  you  are  worth 
anything  at  all,  do  get  out  of  him  what  that  Edouard 
has  settled." 

Josephine  kissed  her,  and  promised  to  try.  After  the 
Hrst  salutation,  there  was  a  certain  hesitation  about 
Raynal  which  Josephine  had  never  seen  a  trace  of  in 
him  before ;  so,  to  put  him  at  his  ease,  and  at  the  same 
time  keep  her  promise  to  Rose,  she  asked  timidly  if  their 
mutual  friend  had  been  able  to  suggest  anything. 

"  What !  don't  you  know  that  I  have  been  acting  all 
along  upon  his  instructions  ?  "  answered  Raynal. 

"  'No,  indeed !  and  you  have  not  told  us  what  he 
advised." 

"  Told  you  ?  why,^  of  course  not ;  they  were  secret 
instructions.     1  have  obeyed  one  set,  and  now  I  come  to 


112  WHITE    LIES. 

the  other;  and  there  is  the  difficulty,  beiug  a  kind  of 
warfare  1  know  nothing  about." 

"  It  must  be  savage  warfare,  then,"  suggested  the  lady 
politely. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Now,  who  would  have  thought  I  was 
such  a  coward  ?  " 

Josephine  was  mystified ;  however,  she  made  a  shrewd 
guess.  "  Do  you  fear  a  repulse  from  any  one  of  us  ? 
Then,  I  suppose,  you  meditate  some  extravagant  act  of 
generosity." 

"Not  I." 

"  Of  delicacy,  then." 

"  Just  the  reverse.  Confound  the  young  dog !  why  is 
he  not  here  to  help  me  ?  " 

"  But,  after  all,"  suggested  Josephine,  "  you  have  only 
to  carry  out  his  instructions." 

"  That  is  true !  that  is  true  !  but  when  a  fellow  is  a 
coward,  a  poltroon,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

This  repeated  assertion  of  cowardice  on  the  part  of 
the  living  Damascus  blade  that  stood  bolt-upright  before 
her,  struck  Josephine  as  so  funny  that  she  laughed 
merrily,  and  bade  him  fancy  it  was  only  a  fort  he  was 
attacking  instead  of  the  terrible  Josephine ;  whom  none 
but  heroes  feared,  she  assured  him. 

This  encouragement,  uttered  in  jest,  was  taken  in 
earnest.  The  soldier  thanked  her,  and  rallied  visibly  at 
the  comparison.  "  All  right,"  said  he,  "  as  you  say,  it  is 
only  a  fort  —  so  —  mademoiselle  ! " 

"  Monsieur ! " 

"  Hum  !  will  you  lend  me  your  hand  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  My  hand !  what  for  ?  there,"  and  she  put  it  out  an 
inch  a  minute.     He  took  it,  and  inspected  it  closely. 

"  A  charming  hand  ;  the  hand  of  a  virtuouo  woman  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Josephine  as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  too  sub- 
limely and  absurdly  innocent  even  to  blush. 


WHITE   LIES.  113 

"  Is  it  your  own  ?  " 

"  Sir  !  "     She  blushed  at  that,  I  can  tell  you. 

"  Because  if  it  was,  I  would  ask  you  to  give  it  me. 
(I've  fired  the  first  shot  anyway.)  " 

Josephine  whipped  her  hand  off  his  palm,  where  it  lay 
like  cream  spilt  on  a  trencher. 

"  Ah !  I  see  ;  you  are  not  free  :  you  have  a  lover." 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  Josephine  in  distress  ;  "  I  love 
nobody  but  my  mother  and  sister  :  I  never  shall." 

'^  Your  mother,"  cried  Raynal ;  "  that  reminds  me  ;  he 
told  me  to  ask  her ;  by  Jove,  I  think  he  told  me  to  ask 
her  first ;  "  and  Raynal  up  with  his  scabbard  and  was 
making  off. 

Josephine  begged  him  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 

"  I  can  save  you  the  trouble,"  said  she. 

"  Ah,  but  my  instructions  !  my  instructions  !  "  cried 
the  military  pedant,  and  ran  off  into  the  house,  and  left 
Josephine  "  planted  there,"  as  they  say  in  France. 

Raynal  demanded  a  private  interview  of  the  baroness 
so  significantly  and  unceremoniously  that  Rose  had  no 
alternative  but  to  retire,  but  not  without  a  glance  of 
defiance  at  the  bear.  She  ran  straight,  without  her 
bonnet,  into  the  Pleasaunce  to  slake  her  curiosity  at 
Josephine.  That  young  lady  was  walking  pensively, 
but  turned  at  sight  of  Rose,  and  the  sisters  came  to- 
gether with  a  clash  of  tongues. 

"0  Rose!  he  has  " — 

"  Oh  ! " 

So  nimbly  does  the  female  mind  run  on  its  little  beaten 
tracks,  that  it  took  no  more  than  those  syllables  for  even 
these  innocent  young  women  to  coiunumicate  that  Raynal 
had  popped. 

Josephine  apologized  for   this    weakness    in  a   hero. 
"  It  wasn't  his  fault,"  said  she.     "  It  is  your  Edouard 
who  set  him  to  do  it." 
8 


114  WHITE   LIES. 

"My  Edouartl?  Don't  talk  in  that  horrid  way:  I 
have  no  Edouard.     You  said  '  no  '  of  course." 

"  Something  of  the  kind." 

"  What,  did  you  not  say  '  no  '  phunp?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  it  brutally,  dear." 

"  Josephine,  you  frighten  me.  I  know  you  can't  say 
'  no '  to  any  one ;  and  if  you  don't  say  '  no '  plump  to 
such  a  man  as  this,  you  might  as  well  say  '  yes.'  " 

"  Well,  love,"  said  Josephine,  "you  know  our  mother 
will  relieve  me  of  this ;  what  a  comfort  to  have  a 
mother ! " 

They  waited  for  Raynal's  departure,  to  go  to  the  bar- 
oness. They  had  to  wait  a  long  time.  Moreover,  when 
he  did  leave  the  chateau  he  came  straight  into  the 
Pleasaunce.  At  sight  of  him  Rose  seized  Josephine 
tight  and  bade  her  hold  her  tongue,  as  she  could  not  say 
"  no  "  plump  to  any  one.  Josephine  was  far  from  rais- 
ing any  objection  to  the  arrangement. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Rose,  before  he  could  get  a  word 
out,  "  even  if  she  had  not  declined,  /  could  not  con- 
sent." 

Raynal  tapped  his  forehead  reflectively,  and  drew 
forth  from  memory  that  he  had  no  instructions  whatever 
to  ask  her  consent. 

She  colored  high,  but  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  Is  her  own  consent  to  be  dispensed  with  too  ?  She 
declined  the  honor,  did  she  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  did ;  but  this  was  anticipated  in  my 
instructions.  I  am  to  be  sure  and  not  take  the  first  two 
or  three  refusals." 

"  0  Josephine,  look  at  that  insoleat  boy :  he  has 
found  you  out." 

"  Insolent  boy  ! "  cried  Raynal ;  "  why,  it  is  the  referee 
of  your  own  choosing,  and  as  well  behaved  a  lad  as  ever 
I  saw,  and  a  zealous  officer." 


WHITE   LIES.  115 

"My  kind  friends,"  put  in  Josephine  with  a  sweet 
languor,  "  I  cannot  let  you  quarrel  about  a  straw." 

"  It  is  not  about  a  straw,"  said  Kaynal,  "  it  is  about 
you." 

"  The  distinction  involves  a  compliment,  sir,"  said 
Josephine ;  then  she  turned  to  Rose,  "  Is  it  possible  you 
do  not  see  Monsieur  Raynal's  strange  proposal  in  its  true 
light  ?  and  you  so  shrewd  in  general.  He  has  no  per- 
sonal feeling  whatever  in  this  eccentric  proceeding :  he 
wants  to  make  us  all  happy,  especially  my  mother,  with- 
out seeming  to  lay  us  under  too  great  an  obligation. 
Surely  good-nature  was  never  carried  so  far  before ;  ha, 
ha !  Monsieur,  I  will  encumber  you  with  my  friendship 
forever,  if  you  permit  me,  but  farther  than  that  I  will 
not  abuse  your  generosity." 

"  Now  look  here,  mademoiselle,"  began  Raynal  bluntly, 
"  I  did  start  with  a  good  motive  at  first,  that  there's  no 
denying.  But,  since  I  have  been  every  day  in  your  com- 
pany, and  seen  how  good  and  kind  you  are  to  all  about 
you,  I  have  turned  selfish ;  and  I  say  to  myself,  what  a 
comfort  such  a  wife  as  you  would  be  to  a  soldier  !  Why, 
only  to  have  you  to  write  letters  home  to,  would  be 
worth  half  a  fellow's  pay.  Do  you  know  sometimes 
when  I  see  the  fellows  writing  their  letters  it  gives  me 
a  knock  here  to  think  I  have  no  one  at  all  to  write  to." 

Josephine  sighed. 

"  So  you  see  I  am  not  so  mighty  disinterested.  Now, 
mademoiselle,  you  speak  so  charmingly,  I  can't  tell  what 
you  mean :  can't  tell  whether  you  say  '  no  '  because  you 
could  never  like  me,  or  whether  it  is  out  of  delicac}', 
and  you  only  want  pressing.  So  I  say  no  more  at  pres- 
ent :  it  is  a  standing  offer.  Take  a  day  to  consider. 
Take  two  if  you  like.  I  must  go  to  the  barracks  ;  good- 
day." 

"  Oh  !  this  must  be  put  an  end  to  at  once,"  said  Rose. 


116  WHITE    LIES. 

.    "  With  all  my  lieart,"  replied  Josephine ;  "but  how ?  " 

"  Come  to  our  mother,  and  settle  that,"  said  the  im- 
petuous sister,  and  nearly  dragged  the  languid  one  into 
the  drawing-room. 

To  their  surprise  they  found  the  baroness  walking  up 
and  down  the  room  with  unusual  alacrity  for  a  person  of 
her  years.  She  no  sooner  caught  sight  of  Josephine 
than  she  threw  her  arms  open  to  her  with  joyful  vivacity, 
and  kissed  her  warmly.  "  My  love,  you  have  saved  us. 
I  am  a  happy  old  woman.  If  I  had  all  France  to  pick 
from  I  could  not  have  found  a  man  so  worthy  of  my 
Josephine,  He  is  brave,  he  is  handsome,  he  is  young, 
he  is  a  rising  man,  he  is  a  good  son,  and  good  sons  make 
good  husbands  —  and  —  I  shall  die  at  Beaurepaire,  shall 
I  not,  Madame  the  Commandante  ?  " 

Josephine  held  her  mother  round  the  neck,  but  never 
spoke.  After  a  silence  she  held  her  tighter,  and  cried  a 
little. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  baroness  confidentially  of 
Rose,  but  without  showing  any  very  profound  concern. 

"  Mamma !  mamma  !  she  does  not  love  him." 

"  Love  him  ?  She  would  be  no  daughter  of  mine  if 
she  loved  a  man  at  sight.  A  modest  woman  loves  her 
husband  only." 

"  But  she  scarcely  knows  INIonsieur  Raynal." 

''  She  knows  more  of  him  than  I  knew  of  your  father 
when  I  married  him.  She  knows  his  virtues  and  appre- 
ciates them.  I  have  heard  her,  have  I  not,  love  ?  Es- 
teem soon  ripens  into  love  when  they  are  once  fairly 
married." 

"  Mother,  does  her  silence  then  tell  you  nothing  ? 
Her  tears  —  are  they  nothing  to  you  ?  " 

"  Silly  child  !  These  are  tears  that  do  not  scald.  The 
sweet  soul  weeps  because  she  now  for  the  first  time  sees 
Bhe  will  have  to  leave  her  mother.     Alas !  my  eldest,  it 


WHITE   LIES.  117 

is  inevitable.  Mothers  are  not  immortal.  While  they 
are  here  it  is  their  duty  to  choose  good  husbands  for 
their  daughters.  My  youngest,  I  believe,  has  chosen  for 
herself  —  like  the  nation.  But  for  my  eldest  I  choose. 
We  shall  see  which  chooses  the  best.  Meantime  we 
stay  at  Beaurepaire,  thanks  to  my  treasure  here." 

"  Josephine  !  Josephine  !  you  don't  say  one  word," 
cried  Rose  in  dismay. 

"  What  can  I  say  ?  I  love  my  mother  and  I  love  you. 
You  draw  me  different  ways.  I  want  you  to  be  both 
happy." 

"  Then  if  you  will  not  speak  out  I  must.  Mother,  do 
not  deceive  yourself :  it  is  duty  alone  that  keeps  her 
silent :  this  match  is  odious  to  her." 

"  Then  we  are  ruined.  Josephine,  is  this  match  odious 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  odious  :  but  I  am  very,  very  indifferent." 

"  There  !  "  cried  Rose  triumphantly. 

*•  There  ! "  cried  the  baroness  in  the  same  breath, 
triumphantly.  "  She  esteems  his  character ;  but  his  per- 
son is  indifferent  to  her :  in  other  words,  she  is  a  modest 
girl,  and  my  daughter;  and  let  me  tell  you.  Rose,  that 
but  for  the  misfortunes  of  our  house,  both  my  daughters 
would  be  married  as  I  was,  without  knowing  half  as 
much  of  their  husbands  as  Josephine  knows  of  this  brave, 
honest,  generous,  filial  gentleman." 

*■'  Well,  then,  since  she  will  not  speak  out,  I  will.  Pity 
me  :  I  love  her  so.  If  this  stranger,  whom  she  does  not 
love,  takes  her  away  from  us,  he  will  kill  me.  I  shall 
die;  oh!" 

Josephine  left  her  mother  and  went  to  console  Rose. 

The  baroness  lost  her  temper  at  this  last  stroke  of 
opposition.  "  Now  the  truth  comes  out.  Rose ;  this  is 
selfishness.     Do  not  deceive  your'aoii  —  selfishness  !" 

"Mamma!" 


118  WHITE   LIES. 

"You  are  only  waiting  to  leave  me  yourself.  Yet 
your  eldest  sister,  forsooth,  must  be  kept  here  for  you, 
—  till  then."  She  added  more  gently,  "  Let  me  advise 
you  to  retire  to  your  own  room,  and  examine  your  heart 
fairly.  You  will  find  there  is  a  strong  dash  of  egoism  in 
all  this." 

"If  I  do"  — 

"  You  will  retract  your  opposition." 

"  My  heart  won't  let  me ;  but  I  will  despise  myself, 
and  be  silent." 

And  the  young  lady,  who  had  dried  her  eyes  the 
moment  she  was  accused  of  selfishness,  walked,  head 
erect,  from  the  room.  Josephine  cast  a  deprecating 
glance  at  her  mother.  "  Yes,  my  angel ! "  said  the 
latter,  "I  was  harsh.  But  we  are  no  longer  of  one  mind, 
and  I  suppose  never  shall  be  again." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  shall.  Be  patient !  INIother  —  you  shall 
not  leave  Beaurepaire." 

The  baroness  colored  faintly  at  these  four  last  words 
of  her  daughter,  and  hung  her  head. 

Josephine  saw  that,  and  darted  to  her  and  covered 
her  with  kisses. 

That  day  the  doctor  scolded  them  both.  "  You  have 
put  your  mother  into  a  high  fever,"  said  he  ;  "  here's  a 
pulse  ;  I  do  wish  you  would  be  more  considerate." 

The  commandant  did  not  come  to  dinner  as  usual. 
The  evening  passed  heavily ;  their  hearts  were  full  of 
uncertainty. 

"  We  miss  our  merry,  spirited  companion,"  said  the 
baroness  with  a  grim  look  at  Eose.  Both  young  ladies 
assented  with  ludicrous  eagerness. 

That  night  Eose  came  and  slept  with  Josephine, 
and  more  than  once  she  awoke  with  a  start  and  seized 
Josephine  convulsively  and  held  her  tight. 

Accused  of  egoism !  at  first  her  whole  nature  rose  in 


WHITE   LIES.  119 

arms  against  the  charge  :  but,  alter  a  while,  coming  as  it 
did  from  so  revered  a  person,  it  forced  her  to  serious  self- 
examination.  The  poor  girl  said  to  herself,  "  Mamma  is 
a  shrewd  woman.  Am  I  after  all  deceiving  myself  ? 
Would  she  be  happy,  and  am  I  standing  in  the  way  ?  " 
In  the  morning  she  begged  her  sister  to  walk  with  her 
in  the  park,  so  that  they  might  be  safe  from  interruption. 

There,  she  said  sadly,  she  could  not  understand  her 
own  sister.  "  Why  are  you  so  calm  and  cold,  while  I 
am  in  tortures  of  anxiety  ?  Have  you  made  some  resolve 
and  not  confided  it  to  your  Rose  ?  " 

"  No,  love,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  am  scarce  capable  of  a 
resolution  ;  I  am  a  mere  thing  that  drifts." 

"  Let  me  put  it  in  other  words,  then.  How  wall  this 
end  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  marry  Monsieur  Eaynal,  then  ? 
answer  me  that." 

"  No  ;  but  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  were  to  marry 
me." 

"  But  you  said  '  no.' " 

"  Yes,  I  said  'no  '  once." 

"And  don't  you  mean  to  say  it  again,  and  again,  and 
again,  till  kingdom  come  ?  " 

"What  is  the  use?  you  heard  him  say  he  would  not 
desist  any  the  more,  and  I  care  too  little  about  the  mat- 
ter to  go  on  persisting,  and  persisting,  and  persisting." 

"  Why  not,  if  he  goes  on  pestering,  and  pestering,  and 
pestering  ?  " 

"  Ah,  he  is  like  you,  all  energy,  at  all  hours ;  but  I 
have  so  little  where  my  heart  is  unconcerned  :  he  seems, 
too,  to  have  a  wish !  I  have  none  either  way,  and  my 
conscience  says  'marry  him  ! ' " 

"  Your  conscience  say  marry  one  man  when  you  love 
another  ?  " 


120  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  Hose,  I  love  no  one :  I  have  loved ; 
but  now  my  heart  is  dead  and  silent ;  only  my  conscience 
says,  '  You  are  the  cause  of  all  your  mother's  trouble ; 
you  are  the  cause  that  Beaurepaire  was  sold.  Now  you 
can  repair  that  mischief,  and  at  the  same  time  make  a 
brave  man  happy,  our  benefactor  happy.'  It  is  a  great 
temptation  :  I  hardly  know  why  I  said  '  no '  at  all ;  sur- 
prise, perhaps  —  or  to  please  you,  pretty  one." 

Rose  groaned  :  "  Are  you  then  worth  so  little  that  you 
would  throw  yourself  away  on  a  man  who  does  not  love 
you,  nor  want  you,  and  is  quite  as  happy  single  ?  " 

"  No  ;  not  happy  ;  he  is  only  stout-hearted  and  good, 
and  therefore  conte?it ;  and  he  is  a  character  that  it  would 
be  easy  —  in  short,  I  feel  my  power  here  :  I  could  make 
that  man  happy  ;  he  has  nobody  to  write  to  even,  when 
he  is  away  —  poor  fellow  ! " 

"  I  shall  lose  all  patience,"  cried  Rose  ;  *'  you  are  at 
your  old  trick,  thinking  of  everybody  but  yourself:  I  let 
you  do  it  in  trifles,  but  I  love  you  too  well  to  permit  it 
when  the  happiness  of  your  whole  life  is  at  stake.  I 
must  be  satisfied  on  one  point,  or  else  this  marriage 
shall  never  take  place :  just  answer  me  this ;  if  Camille 
Dujardin  stood  on  one  side,  and  Monsieur  Raynal  on  the 
other,  and  both  asked  your  hand,  which  would  you 
take  ?  " 

"  That  will  never  be.  Whose  ?  Not  his  whom  I 
despise.  Esteem  might  ripen  into  love,  but  what  must 
contempt  end  in  ?  " 

This  reply  gave  Rose  great  satisfaction.  To  exhaust 
all  awkward  contingencies,  she  said,  ''  One  question  more, 
and  I  have  done.  Suppose  Camille  should  turn  out  —  be 
not  quite  —  what  shall  I  say  —  inexcusable  ?  " 

At  this  unlucky  gush,  Josephine  turned  pale,  then  red, 
then  pale  again,  and  cried  eagerly,  "  Then  all  the  world 
should  not  part  us.     Why  torture  me  with  such  a  ques- 


WHITE   LIES.  121 

tion  ?  Ah  !  you  have  lieard  something."  And  in  a 
moment  the  lava  of  passion  burst  wiklly  through  its  thin 
sheet  of  ice.  "  I  was  blind.  This  is  why  you  would 
save  me  from  this  unnatural  marriage.  You  are  break- 
ing the  good  news  to  me  by  degrees.  There  is  no  need. 
Quick  —  quick  —  let  me  have  it.  I  have  waited  three 
.  years ;  I  am  sick  of  waiting.  Why  don't  you  speak  ? 
Why  don't  you  tell  me  ?  Then  I  will  tell  you.  He  is 
alive  —  he  is  well  —  he  is  coming.  It  was  not  he  those 
soldiers  saw  ;  they  were  so  far  off.  How  could  they  tell  ? 
They  saw  a  uniform  but  not  a  face.  Perhaps  he  has 
been  a  prisoner,  and  so  could  not  write ;  could  not  come : 
but  he  is  coming  now.  Why  do  you  groan  ?  why  do  you 
turn  pale  ?  ah !  I  see ;  I  have  once  more  deceived  myself. 
I  was  mad.  He  I  love  is  still  a  traitor  to  France  and 
me,  and  I  am  wretched  forever.  Oh  !  that  I  were  dead ! 
oh  !  that  I  were  dead  !  No ;  don't  speak  to  me  :  never 
mind  me ;  this  madness  will  pass  as  it  has  before,  and 
leave  me  a  dead  thing  among  the  living.  Ah !  sister, 
why  did  you  wake  me  from  my  dream  ?  I  was  drifting 
so  calmly,  so  peacefully,  so  dead,  and  painless,  drifting 
over  the  dead  sea  of  the  heart  towards  the  living  waters 
of  gratitude  and  duty.  I  was  going  to  make  more  than 
one  worthy  soul  happy ;  and  seeing  them  happy,  I 
should  have  been  content  and  useful  — what  am  I  now  ? 
—  and  comforted  other  hearts,  and  died  joyful — and 
3'oung.  For  God  is  good ;  he  releases  the  meek  and 
patient  from  their  burdens." 

With  this  came  a  flood  of  tears ;  and  she  leaned  against 
a  bough  with  her  forehead  on  her  arm,  bowed  like  a 
wounded  lily. 

"Accursed  be  that  man's  name,  and  my  tongue  if  ever 
I  utter  it  again  in  your  hearing  ! "  cried  Rose,  weeping 
bitterly.  "  You  are  wiser  than  I,  and  every  way  better. 
O  my  darling,  dry  your  tears  !  Here  he  comes  :  look ! 
riding  across  the  park."    . 


122  WHITE   LIES. 

"Rose,"  cried  Josephine,  hastily,  "I  leave  all  to  you. 
Eeceive  Monsieur  Raynal,  and  decline  his  offer  if  you 
think  proper.  It  is  you  who  love  me  best.  My  mother 
would  give  me  up  for  a  house ;  for  an  estate,  poor  dear." 

"  I  would  not  give  you  for  all  the  world." 

"  I  know  it.     I  trust  all  to  you." 

"  Well,  but  don't  go  ;  stay  and  hear  what  I  shall  say." 

''Oh,  no ;  that  poor  man  is  intolerable  to  me  now.  Let 
me  avoid  his  sight,  and  think  of  his  virtues." 

Rose  was  left  alone,  mistress  of  her  sister's  fate.  She 
put  her  head  into  her  hands  and  filled  with  anxiety  and 
sudden  doubt. 

Like  a  good  many  more  of  us,  she  had  been  positive 
so  long  as  the  decision  did  not  rest  with  her.  But  with 
power  comes  responsibility,  with  responsibility  comes 
doubt.  Easy  to  be  an  advocate  m  re  incertd ;  hard  to 
be  the  judge.  And  she  had  but  a  few  seconds  to  think 
in  ;  for  Raynal  was  at  hand.  The  last  thing  in  her  mind 
before  he  joined  her  was  the  terrible  power  of  that  base 
Camille  over  her  sister.  She  despaired  of  curing  Joseph- 
ine, but  a  husband  might.  There's  such  divinity  doth 
hedge  a  husband  in  innocent  girls'  minds. 

"  Well,  little  lady,"  began  Raynal,  "  and  how  are  you, 
and  how  is  my  mother-in-law  that  is  to  be  —  or  is  not 
to  be,  as  your  sister  pleases  ;  and  how  is  she  ?  have  I 
frightened  her  away  ?  There  were  two  petticoats,  and 
now  there  is  but  one." 

"  She  left  me  to  answer  you." 

"  All  the  worse  for  me  :  I  am  not  to  your  taste." 

"  Do  not  say  that,"  said  Rose,  almost  hysterically. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  no  sacrilege.     Not  one  in  fifty  likes  me." 

"  But  I  do  like  you,  sir." 

"Then  why  won't  you  let  me  have  your  sister?" 

"I  have  not  quite  decided  that  you  shall  not  have 
her,"  faltered  poor  Rose.     She  murmured  on,  "I  dare 


WHITE   LIES.  123 

say  you  think  me  very  unkind,  very  selfish  ;  but  put 
yourself  in  my  place.  I  love  my  sister  as  no  man  can 
ever  love  her,  I  know  :  my  heart  has  been  one  flesh  and 
one  soul  with  hers  all  my  life.  A  stranger  comes  and 
takes  her  away  from  me  as  if  she  was  I  don't  know  what ; 
his  portmanteau  ;  takes  her  to  Egypt,  oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! " 

Raynal  comforted  her. 

"  What,  do  you  think  I  am  such  a  brute  as  to  take  that 
delicate  creature  about  fighting  with  me  ?  why,  the  hot 
sand  would  choke  her,  to  begin.  No.  You  don't  take 
my  manoeuvre.  I  have  no  family  ;  I  try  'or  a  wife  that 
will  throw  me  in  a  mother  and  sister.  You  wiP  live  all 
together  the  same  as  before,  of  course  ;  only  you  must 
let  me  make  one  of  you  when  I  am  at  home.  And  how 
often  will  that  be  ?  Besides,  I  am  as  likely  to  be 
knocked  on  the  head  in  Egypt  ab  not ;  you  are  worry- 
ing yourself  for  nothing,  lit  le  lady." 

He  uttered  the  last  topic  of  consolation  in  a  broad, 
hearty,  hilarious  tone,  like  a  trombone  impregnated  with 
cheerful  views  of  fate, 

"Heaven  forbid  !  "  cried  Eose  :  "and  i  w'll,  fo^  even 
I  shall  pray  for  you  now.  What  you  will  leave  her  at 
home  ?  forgive  me  for  not  seeing  all  your  worth :  of 
course  I  knew  you  were  an  angel,  but  I  had  no  idea  you 
"were  a  duck.  You  are  just  the  man  for  my  sister.  She 
likes  to  obey  :  you  are  all  for  commanding.  So  you  see. 
Then  she  never  thinks  of  herself .  any  other  man  but 
you  would  impose  on  her  good-nature  ;  but  you  are  too 
generous  to  do  that.  So  you  see.  Then  she  esteems 
you  so  highly.  And  one  whom  I  esteem  (between  you 
and  me)  has  chosen  you  for  her." 

"  Then  say  yes,  and  have  done  with  it,"  suggested  the 
straightforward  soldier, 

"  AVhy  should  I  say  '  no  ?  '  you  will  make  one  another 
happy  some  day  :  you  are  both  so  good.     Any  other  man 


124  WHITE   LIES. 

but  you  would  tear  her  from  me ;  but  you  are  too  just, 
too  kind.  Heaven  will  reward  you.  No  !  I  will.  I  will 
give  you  Josephine  :  ah,  my  dear  brother-in-law,  it  is  the 
most  precious  thing  I  have  to  give  in  the  world." 

"  Thank  you,  then.  So  that  is  settled.  Hum  !  no,  it 
is  not  quite ;  I  forgot ;  I  have  something  for  you  to  read ; 
an  anonymous  letter.  I  got  it  this  morning ;  it  says  your 
sister  has  a  lover." 

The  letter  ran  to  this  tune  :  a  friend  who  had  observed 
the  commandant's  frequent  visits  at  Beaurepaire  wrote 
to  warn  him  against  traps.  Both  the  young  ladies  of 
Beaurepaire  were  doubtless  at  the  new  proprietor's  serv- 
ice to  pick  and  choose  from.  But  for  all  that  each  of 
them  had  a  lover,  and  though  these  lovers  had  their 
orders  to  keep  out  of  the  way  till  monsieur  should  be 
hooked,  he  migh'.  be  sure  that  if  he  married  either,  the 
man  of  her  heart  would  come  on  the  scene  soon  after, 
perhaps  be  present  at  th    wedding. 

In  short,  it  was  on'"  of  those  poisoned  arrows  a  coarse 
vindictive  coward  can  shoot. 

It  was  ::he  first  anonymous  letter  Rose  had  ever  seen. 
It  almost  drove  her  mad  on  the  spot.  Eaynal  was  sorry 
he  had  let  her  see  it. 

She  turned  red  and  white  by  turns,  and  gasped  for 
breath. 

"  Why  am  I  not  a  man  ?  —  why  don't  I  wear  a  sword  ? 
I  would  pass  it  through  this  caitiff's  heart.  The  cow- 
ardly slave  !  —  the  fiend  !  for  who  but  a  fiend  could  slan- 
der an  angel  like  my  Josephine  ?  Hooked  ?  Oh  !  she 
will  never  marry  you  if  she  sees  this." 

"  Then  don't  let  her  see  it :  and  why  take  it  to  heart 
like  that  ?.  I  don't  trust  to  the  word  of  a  man  who  owns 
that  his  story  is  a  thing  he  dares  not  sign  his  name  to ; 
at  all  events,  I  shall  not  put  his  word  against  yours.  But 
it  is  best  to  understand  one  another  in  time.     I  am  a 


WHITE   LIES.  125 

plain  man,  but  not  a  soft  one.  I  should  not  be  an  easy- 
going husband  like  some  I  see  about :  I'd  have  no  wasps 
round  my  honey ;  if  my  wife  took  a  lover  I  would  not 
lecture  the  woman  —  what  is  the  use  ?  —  I'd  kill  the  vian 
then  and  there,  in-doors  or  out,  as  I  would  kill  a  snake. 
If  she  took  another,  I'd  send  him  after  the  first,  and  so 
on  till  one  killed  me." 

"  And  serve  the  wretches  right." 

"  Yes  ;  but  for  my  own  sake  I  don't  choose  to  marry 
a  woman  that  loves  any  other  man.  So  tell  me  the  plain 
truth  ;  come." 

Kose  turned  chill  in  her  inside.  "  I  have  no  lover," 
she  stammered.  "  I  have  a  young  fool  that  comes  and 
teases  me  :  but  it  is  no  secret.  He  is  away,  but  why  ? 
he  is  on  a  sickbed,  poor  little  fellow  !  " 

"But  your  sister?  She  could  not  have  a  lover  un- 
known to  you." 

"  I  defy  her.  No,  sir  ;  I  have  not  seen  her  speak  three 
words  to  any  young  man  except  Monsieur  Kiviere  this 
three  years  past." 

"  That  is  enough  ; "  and  he  tore  the  letter  quietly  to 
atoms. 

Then  Kose  saw  she  could  afford  a  little  more  candor. 
"  Understand  me  ;  I  can't  speak  of  what  happened  when 
I  was  a  child.  But  if  ever  she  had  a  girlish  attachment, 
he  has  not  followed  it  up,  or  surely  I  should  have  seen 
something  of  him  all  these  years." 

"Of  course.  Oh!  as  for  flirtations,  let  them  pass:  a 
lovely  girl  does  not  grow  up  without  one  or  two  whisper- 
ing some  nonsense  into  her  ear.  Why,  I  myself  should 
have  flirted  no  doubt ;  but  I  never  had  the  time.  Bona- 
parte gives  you  time  to  eat  and  drink,  but  not  to  sleep 
or  flirt,  and  that  reminds  me  I  have  fifty  miles  to  ride, 
so  good-by,  sister-in-law,  eh  ?  " 

"  Adieu,  brother-in-law." 


126  WHITE   LIES. 

Left  alone,  Rose  had  some  misgivings.  She  had  equiv- 
ocated with  one  whose  upright,  candid  nature  ought  to 
have  protected  him  :  but  an  enemy  had  accused  Joseph- 
ine ;  and  it  came  so  natural  to  shield  her.  "  Did  he  really 
think  I  would  expose  my  own  sister  ?  "  said  she  to  her- 
self, angrily.    Was  not  this  anger  secret  self-discontent? 

"Well,  love,"  said  Josephine,  demurely,  "have  you 
dismissed  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

Josephine  smiled  feebly.  "  It  is  easy  to  say  'say  no;' 
but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  say  'no,'  especially  when  you  feel 
you  ought  to  say  'yes,'  and  have  no  wish  either  way 
except  to  give  pleasure  to  others." 

"  But  I  am  not  such  skim  milk  as  all  that,"  replied 
Rose  :  "  I  have  always  a  strong  wish  where  you  are  con- 
cerned, and  your  happiness.  I  hesitated  whilst  I  was  in 
doubt,  but  I  doubt  no  longer :  I  have  had  a  long  talk 
with  him.  He  has  shown  me  his  whole  heart :  he  is  the 
best,  the  noblest  of  creatures :  he  has  no  littleness  or 
meanness.  And  then  he  is  a  thorough  man ;  I  know 
that  by  his  being  the  very  opposite  of  a  woman  in  his 
ways.  Now  you  are  a  thorough  woman,  and  so  you  will 
suit  one  another  to  a  T.  I  have  decided :  so  no  more 
doubts,  love ;  no  more  tears ;  no  more  disputes.  We 
are  all  of  one  mind,  and  I  do  think  I  have  secured  your 
happiness.  It  will  not  come  in  a  day,  perhaps,  but  it 
will  come.  So  then  in  one  little  fortnight  you  marry 
Monsieur  Raynal." 

"  What ! "  said  Josephine,  "  you  have  actually  settled 
that  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  are  you  sure  I  can  make  him  as  happy  as  he 
deserves  ?  " 

"  Positive." 


WHITE   LIES.  127 

"  I  think  so  too ;  still ''  — 

"It  is  settled,  clear,"  said  Rose  soothingly. 

*'  Oh,  the  comfort  of  that  I  you  relieve  me  of  a  weight ; 
you  give  me  peace.  I  shall  have  duties  ;  I  shall  do  some 
good  in  the  "world.  They  were  all  for  it  but  you  before, 
were  they  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  now  I  am  strongest  for  it  of  them  all. 
Josephine,  it  is  settled." 

Josephine  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then 
said  eagerly,  "  Bless  you,  dear  Eose  ;  you  have  saved 
your  sister ; "  then,  after  a  moment,  in  a  very  different 
voice,  "  0  Camille  !  Camile  !  why  have  you  deserted 
me  ?  " 

And  with  this  she  fell  to  sobbing  terribly.  Rose  wept 
on  her  neck,  but  said  nothing.  She  too  was  a  woman, 
and  felt  that  this  was  the  last  despairing  cry  of  love 
giving  up  a  hopeless  struggle. 

They  sat  twined  together  in  silence  till  Jacintha  came 
to  tell  them  it  was  close  upon  dinner-time ;  so  then  they 
hastened  to  dry  their  tears  and  wash  their  red  eyes,  for 
fear  their  mother  should  see  what  they  had  been  at,  and 
worry  herself. 

"  Well,  mademoiselle,  these  two  consent ;  but  what  do 
you  say  ?  for  after  all,  it  is  you  I  am  courting,  and  not 
them.  Have  you  the  courage  to  venture  on  a  rough 
soldier  like  me  ?  "' 

This  delicate  question  was  put  point-blank  before  the 
three  ladies. 

"  Sir,"  replied  Josephine  timidly,  "  I  will  be  as  frank, 
as  straightforward  as  you  are.  I  thank  you  for  the 
honor  you  do  me." 

Raynal  looked  perplexed. 

"  And  does  that  mean  'yes '  or  *  no  '  ?  " 

"Which  you  please,"  said  Josephine,  hanging  her 
sweet  head. 


128  WHITE   LIES. 

The  wedding  was  fixed  for  that  day  fortnight. 

The  next  morning  wardrobes  were  ransacked.  The 
silk,  muslin,  and  laoe  of  their  prosperous  days  were 
looked  out :  grave  discussions  were  held  over  each  work 
of  art.  Rose  was  active,  busy,  fussy.  The  baroness 
threw  in  the  weight  of  her  judgment  and  experience. 

Josephine  managed  to  smile  whenever  either  Rose  or 
the  baroness  looked  at  all  fixedly  at  her. 

So  glided  the  peaceful  days.  So  Josephine  drifted 
towards  the  haven  of  wedlock. 


WHITE    LIES.  129 


CHAPTER  VI. 

At  Bayonne,  a  garrison  town  on  the  south  frontier  of 
France,  two  sentinels  walked  lethargically,  crossing  and 
recrossing  before  the  governor's  house.  Suddenly  their 
official  drowsiness  burst  into  energy ;  for  a  pale,  grisly 
man,  in  rusty,  defaced,  dirty,  and  torn  regimentals,  was 
walking  into  the  courtyard  as  if  it  belonged  to  him. 
The  sentinels  lowered  their  muskets,  and  crossed  them 
with  a  clash  before  the  gateway. 

The  scarecrow  did  not  start  back.  He  stopped  and 
looked  down  with  a  smile  at  the  steel  barrier  the  soldiers 
had  improvised  for  him,  then  drew  himself  a  little  up, 
carried  his  hand  carelessly  to  his  cap,  which  was  nearly  in 
viwo,  and  gave  the  name  of  an  officer  in  the  French  army. 

If  you  or  I,  dressed  like  a  beggar  who  years  ago  had 
stolen  regimentals  and  worn  them  down  to  civil  gar- 
ments, had  addressed  these  soldiers  with  these  very 
same  words,  the  bayonets  would  have  kissed  closer,  or 
perhaps  the  points  been  turned  against  our  sacred  and 
rusty  person :  but  there  is  a  freemasonry  of  the  sword. 
The  light,  imperious  hand  that  touched  that  battered 
cap,  and  the  quiet  clear  tone  of  command  told.  The 
sentinels  slowly  recovered  their  pieces,  but  still  looked 
uneasy  and  doubtful  in  their  minds.  The  battered  one 
saw  this,  and  gave  a  sort  of  lofty  smile ;  he  turned 
up  his  cuffs  and  showed  his  wrists,  and  drew  himself 
still  higher. 

The  sentinels  shouldered  their  pieces  sharp,  then 
dropped  them  simultaneously  with  a  clatter  and  ring 
upon  the  pavement. 


130  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Pass,  captain." 

The  rusty  figure  rang  the  governor's  bell.  A  servant 
came  and  eyed  him  with  horror  and  contempt.  He  gave 
his  name,  and  begged  to  see  the  governor.  The  servant 
left  him  in  the  hall,  and  went  up-stairs  to  tell  his  mas- 
ter. At  the  name  the  governor  reflected,  then  frowned, 
then  bade  his  servant  reach  him  down  a  certain  book. 
He  inspected  it.     "  I  thought  so  :  any  one  with  him  ?  " 

"  ISTo,  your  excellency." 

''Load  my  pistols,  put  them  on  the  table,  show  him 
in,  and  then  order  a  guard  to  the  door." 

The  governor  was  a  stern  veteran  with  a  powerful 
brow,  a  shaggy  eyebrow,  and  a  piercing  eye.  He  never 
rose,  but  leaned  his  chin  on  his  hand,  and  his  elbow  on 
a  table  that  stood  between  them,  and  eyed  his  visitor 
very  fixedly  and  strangely.  "  We  did  not  expect  to  see 
you  on  this  side  the  Pyrenees,"  said  he  gravely. 

"  Nor  I  myself,  governor." 

"  What  do  you  come  for  ?  " 

"A  suit  of  regimentals,  and  money  to  take  me  to 
Paris." 

"  And  suppose,  instead  of  that,  I  turn  out  a  corporal's 
guard,  and  bid  them  shoot  you  in  the  courtyard  ?  " 

"It  would  be  the  drollest  thing  you  ever  did,  all 
things  considered,"  said  the  other  coolly,  but  bitterly. 

The  governor  looked  for  the  book  he  had  lately  con- 
sulted, found  the  page,  handed  it  to  the  rusty  officer, 
and  watched  him  keenly  :  the  blood  rushed  all  over  his 
face,  and  his  lip  trembled ;  but  his  eye  dwelt  stern  yet 
sorrowful  on  the  governor. 

"  I  have  read  your  book,  now  read  mine."  He  drew 
off  his  coat  and  showed  his  wrists  and  arms,  blue  and 
waled.     "  Can  you  read  that,  sir  ?  " 

«  No." 

"All  the  better  for  you:   Spanish  fetters,  general." 


WHITE  LIES.  131 

He  showed  a  white  scar  on  his  shoulder.  "  Can  you 
read  that  ?  This  is  what  I  cut  out  of  it,"  and  he  handed 
the  governor  a  little  round  stone  as  big  and  almost  as 
regular  as  a  musket-ball. 

"  Humph  !  that  could  hardly  have  been  fired  from  a 
French  musket." 

"  Can  you  read  this  ?  "  and  he  showed  him  a  long  cica- 
trix on  his  other  arm. 

"  Knife  I  think,"  said  the  governor. 

"You  are  right,  sir:  Spanish  knife.  Can  you  read 
this  ?  "  and  opening  his  bosom  he  showed  a  raw  wound 
on  his  breast. 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  "  cried  the  governor. 

The  wounded  man  put  his  rusty  coat  on  again,  and 
stood  erect,  and  haughty,  and  silent. 

The  general  eyed  him,  and  saw  his  great  spirit  shining 
through  this  man.  The  more  he  looked  the  less  could 
the  scarecrow  veil  the  hero  from  his  practised  eye.  He 
said  there  must  be  some  mistake,  or  else  he  was  in  his 
dotage ;  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  added,  "  Be 
seated,  if  you  please,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  been 
doing  all  these  years." 

"  Suffering." 

"  Not  all  the  time,  I  suppose." 

"  Without  intermission." 

"  But  what  ?  suffering  what  ?  " 

"  Cold,  hunger,  darkness,  wounds,  solitude,  sickness, 
despair,  prison,  all  that  man  can  suffer." 

"  Impossible  !  a  man  would  be  dead  at  that  rate  before 
this." 

"I  should  have  died  a  dozen  deaths  but  for  one  thing; 
I  had  promised  her  to  live." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  the  old  soldier  said  gravely, 
but  more  kindly,  to  the  young  one,  "  Tell  me  the  facts, 
captain  "  (the  first  time  he  had  acknowledged  his  visitor's 
military  rank). 


132  WHITE   LIES. 

An  hour  had  scarce  elapsed  since  the  rusty  figure  was 
stopped  by  the  sentinels  at  the  gate,  when  two  glittering 
officers  passed  out  under  the  same  archway,  followed  by 
a  servant  carrying  a  furred  cloak.  The  sentinels  pre- 
sented arms.  The  elder  of  tliese  officers  was  the  gov- 
ernor :  the  younger  was  the  late  scarecrow,  in  a  brand- 
new  uniform  belonging  to  the  governor's  son.  He  shone 
out  now  in  his  true  light ;  the  beau  ideal  of  a  patrician 
soldier ;  one  would  have  said  he  had  been  born  with  a 
sword  by  his  side  and  drilled  by  nature,  so  straight  and 
smart,  yet  easy  he  was  in  every  movement.  He  was  like 
a  falcon,  eye  and  all,  only,  as  it  were,  down  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hawk's  eye  lay  a  dove's  eye.  That  compound  and 
varying  eye  seemed  to  say,  I  can  love,  I  can  fight:  I  can 
fight,  I  can  love,  as  few  of  you  can  do  either. 

The  old  man  was  trying  to  persuade  him  to  stay  at 
Bayonne,  until  his  wound  should  be  cured. 

"  No,  general,  I  have  other  wounds  to  cure  of  longer 
standing  than  this  one." 

"  Well,  promise  me  to  lay  up  at  Paris." 

"  General,  I  shall  stay  an  hour  at  Paris." 

"  An  hour  in  Paris !  Well,  at  least  call  at  the  War 
Office  and  present  this  letter." 

That  same  afternoon,  wrapped  in  the  governor's  furred 
cloak,  the  young  officer  lay  at  his  full  length  in  the 
coupe  of  the  diligence,  the  whole  of  which  the  governor 
had  peremptorily  demanded  for  him,  and  rolled  day  and 
night  towards  Paris. 

He  reached  it  worn  with  fatigue  and  fevered  by  his 
wound,  but  his  spirit  as  indomitable  as  ever.  He  went 
to  the  War  Office  with  the  governor's  letter.  It  seemed 
to  create  some  little  sensation;  one  functionary  came 
and  said  a  polite  word  to  him,  then  another.  At  last  to 
his  infinite  surprise  the  minister  himself  sent  down  word 
he  wished  to  see  him ;  the  minister  put  several  questions 


WHITE   LIES.  133 

to  him,  and  seemed  interested  in  him  and  touched  by  his 
relation. 

"  I  think,  captain,  I  shall  have  to  send  to  you :  where 
do  you  stay  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Nowhere,  monsieur ;  I  leave  Paris  as  soon  as  I  can 
find  an  easy-going  horse." 

"  But  General  Bretaux  tells  me  you  are  wounded." 

"Not  dangerously." 

"Pardon  me,  captain,  but  is  this  prudent?  is  it  just 
to  yourself  and  your  friends  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  owe  it  to  those  who  perhaps  think  me  dead." 

"  You  can  write  to  them." 

"I  grudge  so  great,  so  sacred  a  joy  to  a  letter.  No! 
after  all  I  have  suffered  I  claim  to  be  the  one  to  tell  her 
I  have  kept  my  word :  I  promised  to  live,  and  I  live." 

^'Her?  then  I  say  no  more,  only  tell  me  what  road 
you  take." 

"The  road  to  Brittany." 

As  the  young  officer  was  walking  his  horse  by  the 
roadside  about  a  league  and  a  half  from  Paris,  he  heard 
a  clatter  behind  him,  and  up  galloped  an  aide-de-camp 
and  drew  up  alongside,  bringing  his  horse  nearly  on  his 
haunches. 

He  handed  him  a  large  packet  sealed  with  the  arms  of 
France.  The  other  tore  it  open ;  and  there  was  his 
brevet  as  colonel.  His  cheek  flushed  and  his  eye  glit- 
tered with  jo}'.  The  aide-de-camp  next  gave  him  a  par- 
cel :  "  Your  epaulets,  colonel !  "We  hear  you  are  going 
into  the  wilds  where  epaulets  don't  grow.  You  are  to 
join  the  army  of  the  Rhine  as  soon  as  your  wound  is 
well." 

"'  Wherever  ray  country  calls  me." 

"Your  address,  then,  colonel,  that  we  may  know  where 
to  put  our  finger  on  a  tried  soldier  when  we  want  one." 

"  I  am  going  to  Beaurepaire." 


134  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Beaurepaire  ?     I  never  heard  of  it." 

'' Yoii  never  heard  of  Beaurepaire?  it  is  in  Brittany, 
forty-five  leagues  from  Paris,  forty-three  leagues  and  a 
half  from  here." 

"  Good  !  Health  and  honor  to  you,  colonel." 

"  The  same  to  you,  lieutenant ;  or  a  soldier's  death." 

The  new  colonel  read  the  precious  document  across  his 
horse's  mane,  and  then  he  was  going  to  put  one  of  the 
epaulets  on  his  right  shoulder,  bare  at  present :  but  he 
reflected. 

"  No ;  she  should  make  him  a  colonel  with  her  own 
dear  hand.  He  put  them  in  his  pocket.  He  would  not 
even  look  at  them  till  she  had  seen  them.  Oh,  how 
happy  he  was  not  only  to  come  back  to  her  alive,  but  to 
come  back  to  her  honored." 

His  wound  smarted,  his  limbs  ached,  but  no  pain  past 
or  present  could  lay  hold  of  his  mind.  In  his  great  joy 
he  remembered  past  suffering  and  felt  present  pain  — 
yet  smiled.  Only  every  now  and  then  he  pined  for 
wings  to  shorten  the  weary  road. 

He  was  walking  his  horse  quietly,  drooping  a  little 
over  his  saddle,  when  another  officer  well  mounted  came 
after  him  and  passed  him  at  a  hand  gallop  with  one 
hasty  glance  at  his  uniform,  and  went  tearing  on  like 
one  riding  for  his  life. 

"Don't  I  know  that  face  ?"  said  Dujardin. 

He  cudgelled  his  memory,  and  at  last  he  remembered 
it  was  the  face  of  an  old  comrade.  At  least  it  strongly 
reminded  him  of  one  Jean  Raynal  who  had  saved  his 
life  in  the  Arno,  when  they  were  lieutenants  together. 

Yes,  it  was  certainly  Raynal,  only  bronzed  by  service 
in  some  hot  country. 

"Ah!"  thought  Camille;  "I  suppose  I  am  more 
changed  than  he  is ;  for  he  certainly  did  not  recognize 
me  at  all.     Now  I  wonder  what  that  fellow  has  been 


WHITE   LIES.  135 

doing  all  this  time.  What  a  hurry  he  was  in  !  a  moment 
more  and  I  should  have  hailed  him.  Perhaps  I  may  fall 
in  with  him  at  the  next  town." 

He  touched  his  horse  with  the  spur,  and  cantered 
gently  on,  for  trotting  shook  him  more  than  he  could 
bear.  Even  when  he  cantered  he  had  to  press  his  hand 
against  his  bosom,  and  often  with  the  motion  a  bitterer 
pang  than  usual  came  and  forced  the  water  from  his 
eyes ;  and  then  he  smiled.  His  great  love  and  his  high 
courage  made  this  reply  to  the  body's  anguish.  And 
still  his  eyes  looked  straight  forward  as  at  some  object 
in  the  distant  horizon,  while  he  came  gently  on,  his  hand 
pressed  to  his  bosom,  his  head  drooping  now  and  then, 
smiling  patiently,  upon  the  road  to  Beaurepaire. 

Oh !  if  anybody  had  told  him  that  in  five  days  his 
Josephine  Avas  to  be  married  ;  and  that  the  bronzed 
comrade,  who  had  just  galloped  past  him,  was  to  marry 
her! 

At  Beaurepaire  they  were  making  and  altering  wed- 
ding-dresses. Eose  was  excited,  and  even  Josephine  took 
a  calm  interest.  Dress  never  goes  for  nothing  with  her  sex. 
The  chairs  and  tables  were  covered,  and  the  floor  was 
littered.  The  baroness  was  presiding  over  the  rites  of 
vanity,  and  telling  them  what  she  wore  at  her  wedding, 
under  Louis  XV.,  with  strict  accuracy,  and  what  we  men 
should  consider  a  wonderful  effort  of  memory,  when  the 
Commandant  Raynal  came  in  like  a  cannon-ball,  without 
any  warning,  and  stood  among  them  in  a  stiff  military 
attitude.  Exclamations  from  all  the  party,  and  then  a 
kind  greeting,  especially  from  the  baroness. 
"  We  have  been  so  dull  without  you,  Jean." 
"And  I  have  missed  you  once  or  twice,  mother-in-law, 
I  can  tell  you.  Well,  I  have  got  bad  news ;  but  you 
must  consider  we  live  in  a  busy  time.  To-morrow  I 
start  for  Egypt." 


136  WHITE   LIES. 

Loud  ejaculations  from  the  baroness  and  Rose. 
Josephine  put  down  her  work  quietly. 

The  baroness  sighed  deeply,  and  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes.  "  Oh,  you  must  not  be  down-hearted,  old  lady," 
shouted  Raynal.  "  Why,  I  am  as  likely  to  come  back 
from  Egypt  as  not.  It  is  an  even  chance,  to  say  the 
least." 

This  piece  of  consolation  completed  the  baroness's 
unhappiness.  She  really  had  conceived  a  great  affec- 
tion for  Raynal,  and  her  heart  had  been  set  on  the 
wedding. 

"  Take  away  all  that  finery,  girls,"  said  she  bitterly  ; 
"  we  shall  not  want  it  for  years.  1  shall  not  be  alive 
when  he  comes  home  from  Egypt.  I  never  had  a  son  — 
only  daughters  —  the  best  any  woman  ever  had;  but  a 
mother  is  not  complete  without  a  son,  and  I  shall  never 
live  to  have  one  now." 

"  I  hate  General  Bonaparte,"  said  Rose  viciously. 

"  Hate  my  general  ?  "  groaned  Raynal,  looking  down 
with  a  sort  of  superstitious  awe  and  wonder  at  the  lovelj 
vixen.     "  Hate  the  best  soldier  the  world  ever  saw  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  care  for  his  soldiership  ?  He  has  put  off 
our  wedding.     For  how  many  years  did  you  say  ?  " 

''No;  he  has  put  it  on." 

In  answer  to  the  astonished  looks  this  excited,  he 
explained  that  the  wedding  was  to  have  been  in  a  week, 
but  now  it  must  be  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock. 

The  three  ladies  set  up  their  throats  together.     "  To- 


morrow 


9  » 


"  To-morrow.  Why,  what  do  you  suppose  I  left  Paris 
for  yesterday  ?  left  my  duties  even." 

"  What,  monsieur  ?  "  asked  Josephine,  timidly,  "  did 
you  ride  all  that  way,  and  leave  your  duties  merely  to 
marry  me  ?  "  and  she  looked  a  little  pleased. 

"  You  are  worth  a  great  deal  more  trouble  than  that/' 


WHITE   LIES.  137 

said  Raynal  simply.  "  Besides,  I  had  passed  my  word, 
and  I  always  keep  my  word." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Josephine,  a  little  proudly.  "I  will 
not  go  from  it  now,  if  you  insist ;  but  I  confess  to  you, 
that  such  a  proposal  staggers  me  ;  so  sudden  —  no  pre- 
liminaries—  no  time  to  reflect;  in  short,  there  are  so 
many  difficulties  that  I  must  request  you  to  reconsider 
the  matter." 

"  Difficulties,"  shouted  Eaynal  with  merry  disdain ; 
"  there  are  none,  unless  you  sit  down  and  make  them ; 
we  do  more  difficult  things  than  this  every  day  of  our 
lives  :  we  passed  the  bridge  of  Areola  in  thirteen  min- 
utes ;  and  we  had  not  the  consent  of  the  enemy,  as  we 
have  yours  —  have  we  not  ?  " 

Her  only  reply  Avas  a  look  at  her  mother,  to  which  the 
baroness  replied  by  a  nod ;  then  turning  to  Raynal, 
"  This  empressement  is  very  flattering ;  but  I  see  no 
possibility :  there  is  an  etiquette  we  cannot  altogether 
defy :  there  are  preliminaries  before  a  daughter  of  Beau- 
repaire  can  become  a  wife." 

"  There  used  to  be  all  that,  madam,"  laughed  Raynal, 
jmtting  her  down  good-humoredly  ;  "  but  it  Avas  in  the 
days  when  armies  came  out  and  touched  their  caps  to 
one  another,  and  went  back  into  winter  quarters.  Then 
the  struggle  was  who  could  go  slowest ;  now  the  fight  is 
who  can  go  fastest.  Time  and  Bonaparte  wait  for  nobody ; 
and  ladies  and  other  strong  places  are  taken  by  storm, 
not  undermined  a  foot  a  month  as  under  Noah  Quartorze : 
let  me  cut  this  short,  as  time  is  short." 

He  then  drew  a  little  plan  of  a  wedding  campaign. 
"  The  carriages  will  be  here  at  9  a.m.,"  said  he ;  "  they 
will  whisk  us  down  to  the  mayor's  house  by  a  quarter  to 
ten  :  Picard,  the  notary,  meets  us  there  with  the  marriage 
contract,  to  save  time  ;  the  contract  signed,  the  mayor 
will  do  the  marriage  at  qiiick  step  out  of  respect  for  me 


138  WHITE   LIES. 

—  half  an  hour  —  quarter  past  ten  ;  breakfast  in  the  same 
house  an  hour  and  a  quarter :  —  we  mustn't  hurry  a  wed- 
ding breakfast  —  then  ten  minutes  or  so  for  the  old  fogies 
to  waste  in  making  speeches  about  our  virtues  —  my 
watch  will  come  out  —  my  charger  will  come  round  —  I 
rise  from  the  table  —  embrace  my  dear  old  mother  — 
kiss  my  wife's  hand  —  into  the  saddle  — canter  to  Paris 

—  roll  to  Toulon  —  sail  to  Egypt.  But  I  shall  leave  a 
wife  and  a  mother  behind  me  :  they  will  both  send  me  a 
kind  word  now  and  then ;  and  1  will  write  letters  to  you 
all  from  Egypt,  and  when  I  come  home,  my  wife  and  I 
will  make  acquaintance,  and  we  will  all  be  happy  to- 
gether :  and  if  I  am  killed  out  there,  don't  you  go  and 
fret  your  poor  little  hearts  about  it ;  it  is  a  soldier's  lot 
sooner  or  later.  Besides,  you  will  find  I  have  taken  care 
of  you ;  nobody  shall  come  and  turn  you  out  of  your 
quarters,  even  though  Jean  Raynal  should  be  dead;  I 
have  got  to  meet  Picard  at  Riviere's  on  that  very  busi- 
ness —  I  am  off." 

He  was  gone  as  brusquely  as  he  came. 

"  Mother !  sister  !  "  cried  Josephine,  "  help  me  to  love 
this  man." 

"  You  need  no  help,"  cried  the  baroness,  with  enthusi- 
asm, "  not  love  him,  we  should  all  be  monsters." 

Raynal  came  to  supper  looking  bright  and  cheerfuL 
"  No  more  work  to-day.  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  talk  ; 
fancy  that." 

This  evening  Josephine  de  Beaurepaire,  who  had  been 
silent  and  thoughtful,  took  a  quiet  opportunity,  and 
purred  in  his  ear,  "  Monsieur  ! " 

"  Mademoiselle  ! "  rang  the  trombone. 

"  Am  I  not  to  go  to  Egypt  ?  " 

«No." 

Josephine  drew  back  at  this  brusque  reply  like  a 
sensitive  plant.     But  she  returned  to  the  attack. 


"WHITE   LIES.  139 

"  But  is  it  not  a  wife's  duty  to  be  by  her  husband's 
side  to  look  after  his  comfort  —  to  console  him  when 
others  vex  him  — to  soothe  him  when  he  is  harassed?  " 

"  Her  first  duty  is  to  obey  him." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  when  I  am  your  husband,  I  shall  bid  you  stay 
with  your  mother  and  sister  while  I  go  to  Egypt." 

"  I  shall  obey  you." 

He  told  her  bluntly  he  thought  none  the  worse  of  her 
for  making  the  offer ;  but  should  not  accept  it. 

Camille  Dujardin  slept  that  night  at  a  roadside  inn 
about  twelve  miles  from  Beaurepaire,  and  not  more  than 
six  from  the  town  where  the  wedding  was  to  take  place 
next  day. 

It  was  a  close  race. 

And  the  racers  all  unconscious  of  each  other,  yet 
spurred  impartially  by  events  that  were  now  hurrying 
to  a  climax. 


140  WHITE  LIES. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  next  day  at  sharp  nine  two  carriages  were  at  the 
door. 

But  the  ladies  were  not  ready.  Thus  early  in  tlie 
campaign  did  they  throw  all  into  disorder.  For  so  nicely 
had  Raynal  timed  the  several  events  that  this  threw  him 
all  into  confusion.  He  stamped  backwards  and  forwards, 
and  twisted  his  mustaches,  and  swore.  This  enforced 
unpunctuality  was  a  new  torture  to  him.  Jacintha  told 
them  he  was  angry,  and  that  made  them  nervous  and 
flurried,  and  their  fingers  strayed  wildly  among  hooks 
and  eyes,  and  all  sorts  of  fastenings ;  they  were  not 
ready  till  half-past  nine.  Conscious  they  deserved  a 
scolding,  they  sent  Josephine  down  first  to  mollify.  She 
dawned  upon  the  honest  soldier  so  radiant,  so  dazzling 
in  her  snowy  dress,  with  her  coronet  of  pearls  (an  heir- 
loom), and  her  bridal  veil  parted,  and  the  flush  of  con- 
scious beauty  on  her  cheek,  that  instead  of  scolding  her, 
he  actually  blurted  out,  "  Well !  by  St.  Denis  it  was 
worth  waiting  half  an  hour  for." 

He  recovered  a  quarter  of  an  hour  by  making  the 
driver  gallop.  Then  occasional  shrieks  issued  from  the 
carriage  that  held  the  baroness.  That  ancient  lady 
feared  annihilation :  she  had  not  come  down  from  a 
galloping  age. 

They  drove  into  the  town,  drew  up  at  the  mayor's 
house,  were  received  with  great  ceremony  by  that  func- 
tionary and  Picard,  and  entered  the  house. 

When  their  carriages  rattled  into  the  street  from  the 
north  side,  Colonel  Dujardin  had  already  entered  it  from 


WHITE   LIES.  141 

the  south,  and  was  riding  at  a  foot's  pace  along  the  prin- 
cipal street.  The  motion  of  his  horse  now  shook  him 
past  endurance.  He  dismounted  at  an  inn  a  few  doors 
from  the  mayor's  house,  and  determined  to  do  the  rest 
of  the  short  journey  on  foot.  The  landlord  bustled 
about  him  obsequiously.  "  You  are  faint,  colonel ;  you 
have  travelled  too  far.  Let  me  order  you  an  excellent 
breakfast." 

"  No.     I  want  a  carriage  ;  have  you  one  ?  " 

"  I  have  two ;  but,  unluckily,  they  are  both  engaged 
for  the  day,  and  by  people  of  distinction.  Commandant 
Kaynal  is  married  to-day." 

"Ah!  I  wish  him  joy,"  said  Camille,  heartily.  He 
then  asked  the  landlord  to  open  the  window,  as  he  felt 
rather  faint.  The  landlord  insisted  on  breakfast,  and 
Camille  sat  down  to  an  omelet  and  a  bottle  of  red  wine. 
Then  he  lay  awhile  near  the  window,  revived  by  the  air, 
and  watched  the  dear  little  street  he  had  not  seen  for 
years.     He  felt  languid,  but  happy,  celestially  happy. 

She  was  a  few  doors  from  him,  and  neither  knew  it. 

A  pen  was  put  into  her  white  hand,  and  in  another 
tnoment  she  had  signed  a  marriage  contract. 

"  Now  to  the  church,"  cried  the  baroness,  gayly.  To 
get  to  the  church,  they  must  pass  by  the  window  Camille 
recrined  at. 


142  WHITE   LIES. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Oh!  there's  no  time  for  that,"  said  Raynal.  And 
as  the  baroness  looked  horrified  and  amazed,  Picard 
explained:  "The  state  marries  its  citizens  now,  with 
reason :  since  marriage  is  a  civil  contract." 

"  Marriage  a  civil  contract !  "  repeated  the  baroness. 
"What,  is  it  then  no  longer  one  of  the  holy  sacraments  ? 
What  horrible  impiety  shall  we  come  to  next  ?  Unhappy 
France  !  Such  a  contract  would  never  be  a  marriage  in 
my  eyes :  and  what  would  become  of  an  union  the 
Church  had  not  blessed  ?  " 

"Madame,"  said  Picard,  "the  Church  can  bless  it  still ; 
but  it  is  only  the  mayor  here  that  can  do  it." 

All  this  time  Josephine  was  blushing  scarlet,  and 
looking  this  way  and  that,  with  a  sort  of  instinctive 
desire  to  fly  and  hide,  no  matter  where,  for  a  week  or  so. 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw ! "  roared  Raynal ;  "  here  is  a  pretty 
mother.  Wants  her  daughter  to  be  unlawfully  married 
in  a  church,  instead  of  lawfully  in  a  house.  Give  me 
the  will ! " 

"  Look  here,  mother-in-law :  I  have  left  Beaurepaire 
to  my  lawful  wife." 

"  Otherwise,"  put  in  Picard,  "  in  case  of  death,  it 
would  pass  to  his  heir-at-law." 

"And  he  would  turn  you  all  out,  and  that  does  not 
suit  me.  Now  there  stands  the  only  man  who  can  make 
mademoiselle  my  lawful  wife.  So  quick  march,  mon- 
sieur the  mayor,  for  time  and  Bonaparte  wait  for  no 
man." 

"  Stay   a   minute,   young    people,"    said    the    mayor. 


WHITE   LIES.  143 

"We  should  soothe  respectable  prejudices,  not  crush 
them.  Madam,  1  am  at  least  as  old  as  you,  and  have  seen 
many  changes.     I  perfectly  understand  your  feelings." 

"  Ah,  monsieur  !  oh  ! " 

"  Calm  yourself,  dear  madam ;  the  ease  is  not  so  bad 
as  you  think.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  in  republican 
France  the  civil  magistrate  alone  can  bind  French  citi- 
zens in  lawful  wedlock.  But  this  does  not  annihilate 
the  religious  ceremony.  You  can  ask  the  Church's 
blessing  on  my  work ;  and  be  assured  you  are  not  the 
only  one  who  retains  that  natural  prejudice.  Out  of 
every  ten  couples  that  I  marry,  four  or  live  go  to  church 
afterwards  and  perform  the  ancient  ceremonies.  And 
they  do  well.  For  there  before  the  altar  the  priest  tells 
them  what  it  is  not  my  business  to  dilate  upon  —  the 
grave  moral  and  religious  duties  they  have  undertaken 
along  with  this  civil  contract.  The  state  binds,  but  the 
Church  still  blesses,  and  piously  assents  to  that "  — 

"  From  which  she  has  no  power  to  dissent." 

"Monsieur  Picard,  do  you  consider  it  polite  to  inter- 
rupt tlie  chief  magistrate  of  the  place  while  he  is  explain- 
ing the  law  to  a  citizen  ?  " 

(This  closed  Picard.) 

"  I  married  a  daughter  last  year,"  continued  the 
worthy  mayor. 

"  What,  after  this  fashion  ?  " 

"  I  married  her  myself,  as  I  will  marry  yours,  if  you 
will  trust  me  with  her.  And  after  I  have  made  them 
one,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  them  adjourning  to  the 
church." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  cried  Raynal,  "  there  are  two 
things  to  prevent  it :  a  couple  that  wait  for  no  man : 
Time  and  Bonaparte.  Come,  sir;  marry  us,  and  have 
done  with  it." 

The  mayor  assented.     He  invited  Josephine  to  stand 


144  WHITE   LIES. 

before  him.  She  trembled  and  wept  a  little  :  Kose  clung 
to  her  and  wept,  and  the  good  mayor  married  the  parties 
off  hand. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  the  baroness  ;  "  it  is  terribly 
soon  done." 

"  It  is  done  effectively,  madam,"  said  the  mayor,  with 
a  smile.  "  Permit  me  to  tell  you  that  his  Holiness  the 
Pope  cannot  undo  my  work." 

Picard  grinned  slyly,  and  whispered  something  into 
Raynal's  ear. 

"Oh!  indeed,"  said  Raynal  aloud  and  carelessly., 
"  Come,  Madame  Eaynal,  to  breakfast :  follow  us,  the 
rest  of  you." 

They  paired,  and  followed  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
into  the  breakfast-room. 

The  light  words  Picard  whispered  were  five  in  number. 

Now  if  the  mayor  had  not  snubbed  Picard  just  before, 
he  would  have  uttered  those  jocose  but  true  words  aloud. 
There  was  no  particular  reason  why  he  should  not.  And 
if  he  had, — The  threads  of  the  web  of  life,  how  subtle 
they  are  !  The  finest  cotton  of  Manchester,  the  finer 
meshes  of  the  spider,  seem  three-inch  cables  by  compari- 
son with  those  moral  gossamers  which  vulgar  eyes  cannot 
see  at  all,  the  "  somethings,  nothings,"  on  w^hich  great 
fates  have  hung. 

It  was  a  cheerful  breakfast,  thanks  to  Eaynal,  who 
would  be  in  high  spirits,  and  would  not  allow  a  word  of 
regret  from  any  one.  Madame  Raynal  sat  by  his  side, 
looking  up  at  him  every  now  and  then  with  innocent 
admiration.     A  merry  wedding  breakfast. 

But  if  men  and  women  could  see  through  the  walls  of 
houses ! 

Two  doors  off  sat  the  wounded  colonel  alone,  recruit- 
ing the  small  remnant  of  his  sore  tried  strength,  that  he 


WHITE    LIES.  145 

might  struggle  on  to  Beaurepaire,  and  lose  in  one  moment 
years  of  separation,  pain,  prison,  anguish,  martyrdom, 
in  one  great  gush  of  joy  without  compare. 

The  wedding  breakfast  was  ended.  The  time  was 
drawing  near  to  part.  There  was  a  silence.  It  was 
broken  by  Madame  Raynal.  She  asked  Raynal  very 
timidly  if  he  had  reflected.     "  On  what  ?  "  said  he. 

*•  About  taking  me  to  Egypt." 

"  No :  I  have  not  given  it  a  thought  since  I  said 
'  no.'  " 

"  Yet  permit  me  to  say  that  it  is  my  duty  to  be  by 
your  side,  my  husband."  And  she  colored  at  this  word, 
being  the  first  time  she  had  ever  used  it.  Raynal  was 
silent.  She  murmured  on,  "  I  would  not  be  an  encum- 
brance to  you,  sir  :  I  should  not  be  useless.  Gentlemen, 
I  could  add  more  to  his  comfort  than  he  gives  me  credit 
for." 

Warm  assent  of  the  mayor  and  notary  to  this  hint. 

"  I  give  you  credit  for  being  an  angel,"  said  Raynal 
warmly. 

He  hesitated.  Rose  was  trembling,  her  fork  shaking 
in  her  poor  little  hand. 

She  cast  a  piteous  glance  at  him.     He  saw  it. 

"  You  shall  go  with  me  next  time,"  said  he.  "  Let  us 
speak  of  it  no  more." 

Josephine  bowed  her  head.  "  At  least  give  me  some- 
thing to  do  for  you  while  you  are  away.  Tell  me  what 
I  can  do  for  my  absent  friend  to  show  my  gratitude,  my 
regard,  my  esteem." 

"  Well,  let  me  think.  I  saw  a  plain  gray  dress  at 
Beaurepaire." 

"Yes,  monsieur.     My  gray  silk,  Rose." 

"  I  like  that  dress." 

"  Do  you  ?     Then  the  moment  I  reach  home  after  lo» 
10 


146  WHITE   LIES. 

iiig  you  I  shall  put  it  on,  and  it  shall  be  my  constant 
wear.  I  see  ;  you  are  right ;  gray  becomes  a  wife  whose 
husband  is  not  dead,  but  is  absent,  and  alas !  in  hourly 
danger." 

"  Now  look  at  that ! "  cried  Raynal  to  the  company. 
''That  is  her  all  over :  she  can  see  six  meanings  where 
another  would  see  but  one.  I  never  thought  of  that,  I 
swear.  I  like  modest  colors,  that  is  all.  My  mother 
used  to  be  all  for  modest  wives  wearing  modest  colors." 

"  I  am  of  her  mind,  sir.  Is  there  nothing  more  diffi- 
cult you  will  be  so  good  as  give  me  to  do  ?  " 

"No;  there  is  only  one  order  more,  and  that  Avill  be 
easier  still  to  such  a  woman  as  you.  I  commit  to  your 
care  the  name  of  Raynal.  It  is  not  so  high  a  name  as 
yours,  but  it  is  as  honest.  I  am  proud  of  it :  I  am  jeal- 
ous of  it.  I  shall  guard  it  for  you  in  Egypt :  you  guard 
it  in  France  for  me." 

"  With  my  life,"  cried  Josephine,  lifting  her  eyes  and 
her  hand  to  heaven. 

Soon  after  this  Raynal  ordered  his  charger. 

The  baroness  began  to  cry.  "  The  j^oung  people  ma- 
hope  to  see  you  again,"  said  she  ;  "  but  there  are  two 
chances  against  your  poor  old  mother." 

"  Courage,  mother  !  "  cried  the  stout  soldier,  "  No, 
no ;  you  won't  play  me  such  a  trick  :  once  is  enough  for 
that  game." 

"  Brother ! "  cried  Rose,  "  do  not  go  without  kissing 
your  little  sister,  who  loves  you  and  thanks  you."  He 
kissed  her.  "  Brave,  generous  soul !  "  she  cried,  with 
her  arms  round  his  neck.  "  God  protect  you,  and  send 
you  back  safe  to  us !  " 

"  Amen  ! "  cried  all  present  by  one  impulse,  even  the 
cold  notary. 

Raynal's  mustache  quivered.  He  kissed  Josephine 
hastily  on  the  brow,  the  baroness  on  both  cheeks  ;  shook 


WHITE   LIES.  147 

the   men's   hands  warmly  but  hastily,  and   strode  out 
without  looking  behind  him.     He  was  moved  for  once. 

They  all  followed  him  to  the  door  of  the  house.  He 
was  tightening  his  horse's  girths.  He  flung  himself  with 
all  the  resolution  of  his  steel  nature  into  the  saddle,  and, 
with  one  grand  wave  of  his  cocked  hat  to  the  tearful 
group,  he  spurred  away  for  Egypt. 


148  WHITE   LIES. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  baroness  took  the  doctor  a-shopping;  she  must  buy 
Rose  a  gray  silk.  In  doing  this  she  saw  many  other 
tempting  things.     I  say  no  more. 

But  the  young  ladies  went  up  to  Beaurepaire  in  the 
other  carriage,  for  Josephine  wished  to  avoid  the  gaze  of 
the  town,  and  get  home  and  be  quiet.  The  driver  went 
very  fast.  He  had  drunk  the  bride's  health  at  the 
mayor's,  item  the  bridegroom's,  the  bridesmaid's,  the 
mayor's,  etc.,  and  "  a  spur  in  the  head  is  worth  two  in 
the  heel,"  says  the  proverb.  The  sisters  leaned  back  on 
the  soft  cushions,  and  enjoyed  the  smooth  and  rapid 
motion  once  so  familiar  to  them,  so  rare  of  late. 

Then  Rose  took  her  sister  gently  to  task  for  having 
offered  to  go  to  Egypt.  She  had  forgotten  her  poor 
sister. 

"  No,  love,"  replied  Josephine,  "  did  you  not  see  I 
dared  not  look  towards  you  ?  I  love  3'ou  better  than  all 
the  world ;  but  this  was  my  duty.  I  was  his  wife  :  I 
had  no  longer  a  feeble  inclination  and  a  feeble  disincli- 
nation to  decide  between,  but  right  on  one  side,  wrong 
on  the  other." 

"  Oh !  I  know  where  your  ladyship's  strength  lies : 
my  force  is  —  in  —  my  inclinations." 

"Yes, Rose,"  continued  Josephine  thoughtfully,  "duty 
is  a  great  comfort :  it  is  so  tangible ;  it  is  something  to 
lay  hold  of  for  life  or  death ;  a  strong  tower  for  the 
weak  but  well  disposed." 

Rose  assented,  and  they  were  silent  a  minute ;  and 
when  she  spoke  again  it  was  to  own  she  loved  a  carriage. 


"WHITE    LIES.  149 

"  How  fast  we  glide  !  Now  lean  back  with  me,  and  take 
my  hand,  and  as  we  glide  shut  your  eyes  and  think : 
whisper  me  all  your  feelings,  every  one  of  them." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Josephine,  half  closing  her  eyes, 
"in  the  first  place  I  feel  a  great  calm,  a  heavenly  calm. 
My  fate  is  decided.  No  more  suspense.  My  duties  are 
clear.  I  have  a  husband  I  am  proud  of.  There  is  no 
perfidy  with  him,  no  deceit,  no  disingenuousness,  no 
shade.  He  is  a  human  sun.  He  will  make  me  a  better, 
truer  woman,  and  I  him  a  happier  man.  Yes,  is  it  not 
nice  to  think  that  great  and  strong  as  he  is  I  can  teach 
him  a  happiness  he  knows  not  as  yet  ?  "  And  she  smiled 
with  the  sense  of  her  delicate  power,  but  said  no  more  ; 
for  she  was  not  the  one  to  talk  much  about  herself. 
But  Rose  pressed  her.  "Yes,  go  on,  dear,"  she  said, 
"  I  seem  to  see  jouv  pretty  little  thoughts  rising  out  of 
your  heart  like  a  bubbling  fountain  :  go  on." 

Thus  encouraged,  Josephine  thought  on  aloud,  "And 
then,  gratitude  ! "  said  she.  "  I  have  heard  it  said,  or 
read  it  somewhere,  that  gratitude  is  a  burden :  I  cannot 
understand  that  sentiment;  wh}',  to  me  gratitude  is  a 
delight,  gratitude  is  a  passion.  It  is  the  warmest  of  all 
the  tender  feelings  I  have  for  dear  Monsieur  Raynal.  I 
feel  it  glow  here,  in  my  bosom.  I  think  I  shall  love  him 
as  I  ought  long  before  he  comes  back." 

"  Before  ?  " 

"Yes,"  murmured  Josephine,  her  ej'es  still  half  closed. 
"  His  virtues  will  always  be  present  to  me.  His  little 
faults  of  manner  will  not  be  in  sight.  Good  Raynal ! 
The  image  of  those  great  qualities  I  revere  so,  perhaps 
because  I  fail  in  them  myself,  will  be  before  ni}^  mind ; 
and  ere  he  comes  home  I  shall  love  him  dearly.  I'll  tell 
you  one  reason  why  I  Avished  to  go  home  at  once  was  — 
no  —  you  must  guess." 

"Guess  ?"  said  Rose,  contemptuously.  "As  if  I  did 
not  see  it  was  to  put  on  your  gray  silk." 


150  WHITE  LIES. 

Josephine  smiled  assent,  and  said  almost  with  fervor, 
"  Good  Raynal !  I  feel  prouder  of  his  honest  name  than 
of  our  noble  one.  And  I  am  so  calm,  dear,  thanks  to 
you,  so  tranquil ;  so  pleased  that  my  mother's  mind  is  at 
rest,  so  convinced  all  is  for  the  best,  so  contented  with 
my  own  lot ;  so  hap — py." 

A  gentle  tear  stole  from  beneath  her  long  lashes.  Rose 
looked  at  her  wistfully :  then  laid  her  cheek  to  hers. 
They  leaned  back  hand  in  hand,  placid  and  silent. 

The  carriage  glided  fast.  Beaurepaire  was  almost  in 
sight. 

Suddenly  Josephine's  hand  tightened  on  Rose's,  and 
she  sat  up  in  the  carriage  like  a  person  awakened  from  a 
strange  dream. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  Some  one  in  uniform." 

"Oh,  is  that  all  ?  Ah  !  you  thought  it  was  a  message 
from  Raynal." 

"Oh!  no!  on  foot  —  walking  very  slowly.  Coming 
this  way,  too.  Coming  this  way ! "  and  she  became 
singularly  restless,  and  looked  round  in  the  carriage.  It 
was  one  of  those  old  chariots  with  no  side  windows,  but 
a  peep  hole  at  the  back.  This  aperture,  however,  had  a 
flap  over  it.  Josephine  undid  the  flap  with  nimble 
though  agitated  fingers  ;  and  saw  —  nothing.  The  road 
had  taken  a  turn.  "  Oh,"  said  Rose,  carelessly,  "  for  that 
matter  the  roads  are  full  of  soldiers  just  now." 

"  Ay,  but  not  of  officers  on  foot." 

Rose  gave  her  such  a  look,  and  for  the  first  time  this 
many  a  day  spoke  sternly  to  her,  and  asked  her  what  on 
earth  she  had  to  do  with  uniforms  or  officers  except  one, 
the  noblest  in  the  world,  her  husband. 

A  month  ago  that  word  was  almost  indifferent  to 
Josephine,  or  rather  she  uttered  it  with  a  sort  of  mild 
complacency.     Now  she  started  at  it,  and  it  struck  chill 


WHITE   LIES.  151 

upon  her.  She  did  not  reply,  however,  and  the  carriage 
rolled  on. 

"  He  seemed  to  be  dragging  himself  along."  This  was 
the  first  word  Josephine  had  spoken  for  some  time. 
"  Oh,  did  he  ?  "  replied  Rose  carelessly ;  "  well,  let  him. 
Here  we  are,  at  home." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Josephine,  "  very  glad." 

On  reaching  Beaurepaire  she  wanted  to  go  up-stairs  at 
once  and  put  on  her  gray  gown.  But  the  day  was  so 
delightful  that  Rose  begged  her  to  stroll  in  the  Pleasaunce 
foi-  half  an  hour  and  watch  for  their  mother's  return. 
She  consented  in  an  absent  way,  and  presently  began  to 
walk  very  fast,  unconscious  of  her  companion.  Rose 
laid  a  hand  upon  her  playfully  to  moderate  her,  and 
found  her  skin  burning. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  she,  anxiously. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  was  the  sharp  reply. 

"  There's  a  fretful  tone ;  and  how  excited  3'ou  look, 
and  feel  too.  Well,  I  thought  you  were  unnaturally 
calm  after  such  an  event." 

"  I  only  saw  his  back,"  said  Josephine.  "  Did  not  you 
see  him  ?  " 

"  See  who  ?  Oh,  that  tiresome  oflScer.  Why,  how 
much  more  are  we  to  hear  about  him  ?  I  don't  believe 
there  ivas  one." 

At  this  moment  a  cocked  hat  came  in  sight,  bobbing 
up  and  down  above  the  palings  that  divided  the  park 
from  the  road.     Josephine  pointed  to  it  without  a  word. 

Rose  got  a  little  cross  at  being  practically  confuted, 
and  said  coldly,  "  Come,  let  us  go  in ;  the  only  cocked 
hat  we  can  see  is  on  the  way  to  Paris." 

Josephine  assented  eagerly.  But  she  had  not  taken 
two  steps  towards  the  house  ere  she  altered  her  mind, 
and  said  she  felt  faint,  she  wanted  air ;  no,  she  should 
stay  out  a  little  longer.     "Look,  Rose,"  said  she,  in  a 


152  WHITE    LIES. 

strangely  excited  way,  "  what  a  shame !  They  put  all 
manner  of  rubbish  into  this  dear  old  tree :  I  will  have 
it  all  turned  out."  And  she  looked  with  feigned  interest 
into  the  tree :  but  her  eyes  seemed  turned  inward. 

Rose  gave  a  cry  of  surprise.  "  He  is  waving  his  hat 
to  me  !     What  on  earth  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  takes  you  for  me,"  said  Josephine. 

"  Who  is  it  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  he  !  I  knew  his  figure  at  a  glance."  And  she 
blushed  and  trembled  with  joy ;  she  darted  behind  the 
tree  and  peered  round  at  him  unseen :  turning  round  a 
moment  she  found  Rose  at  her  back  pale  and  stern.  She 
looked  at  her,  and  said  with  terrible  simplicity,  "  Ah, 
Rose,  I  forgot." 

"Are  you  mad,  Josephine?  Into  the  house  this 
moment;  if  it  is  he,  I  will  receive  him  and  send  him 
about  his  business." 

But  Josephine  stood  fascinated,  and  pale  as  ashes ;  for 
now  the  cocked  hat  stopped,  and  a  pale  face  with  eyes 
whose  eager  fire  shone  even  at  that  distance,  rose  above 
the  palings.  Josephine  crouched  behind  Rose,  and 
gasped  out,  "  Something  terrible  is  coming,  terrible ! 
terrible  ! " 

"  Say  something  hateful,"  said  Rose,  trembling  in  her 
turn,  but  only  with  anger.  "  The  heartless  selfish  traitor  ! 
He  never  notices  you  till  you  are  married  to  the  noblest 
of  mankind ;  and  then  he  comes  here  directly  to  ruin 
your  peace.  No;  I  have  altered  my  mind.  He  shall 
not  see  you,  of  course ;  but  you  shall  hear  him.  I'll 
soon  make  you  know  the  wretch  and  loathe  him  as  I  do. 
There,  now  he  has  turned  the  corner ;  hide  in  the  oak 
while  he  is  out  of  sight.  Hide,  quick,  quick."  Josephine 
obeyed  mechanically  ;  and  presently,  through  that  very 
aperture  whence  her  sister  had  smiled  on  her  lover  she 
hissed   out,  in   a  tone  of   which   one  would   not   have 


WHITE   LIES.  153 

thought  her  capable,  "  Be  wise,  be  shrewd ;  find  out  -wlio 
is  the  woman  that  has  seduced  him  from  me,  and  has 
brought  two  wretches  to  this,  I  tell  you  it  is  some 
wicked  woman's  doing.     He  loved  me  once." 

"  Not  so  loud  !  —  one  word :  you  are  a  wife.  Swear  to 
me  you  will  not  let  him  see  you,  come  what  may." 

"  Oh  !  never  !  never ! "  cried  Josephine  with  terror. 
''  I  would  rather  die.  When  you  have  heard  what  he 
has  to  say,  then  tell  him  I  am  dead.  No,  tell  him  I 
adore  my  husband,  and  went  to  Egypt  this  day  with  him. 
Ah !  would  to  God  I  had ! " 

"Sh!  sh!" 

"  Sh !  " 

Camille  was  at  the  little  gate. 

Rose  stood  still,  and  nerved  herself  in  silence. 
Josephine  panted  in  her  hiding-place. 

Eose's  only  thought  now  was  to  expose  the  traitor  to 
her  sister,  and  restore  her  peace.  She  pretended  not  to 
see  Camille  till  he  was  near  her.  He  came  eagerly  towards 
her,  his  pale  face  flushing  with  great  joy,  and  his  eyes 
like  diamonds. 

"Josephine  !  It  is  not  Josephine,  after  all,"  said  he. 
"  Why,  this  must  be  Rose,  little  Rose,  grown  up  to  a  fine 
lady,  a  beautiful  lady." 

"What  do  you  come  here  for,  sir?"  asked  Rose  in  a 
tone  of  icy  indifference. 

"What  do  I  come  here  for?  is  that  the  way  to  speak 
to  me  ?  but  I  am  too  happy  to  mind.  Dear  Beaurepaire ! 
do  I  see  you  once  again ! " 

"  And  madame  ?  " 

«  What  madame  ?  " 

"Madame  Dujardin  that  is  or  was  to  be." 

"This  is  the  first  I  have  ever  heard  of  her,"  said 
Camille,  gajly. 

"  This  is  odd,  for  we  have  heard  all  about  it." 


154  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Are  you  jesting  ?  " 

"No." 

"If  I  understand  you  right,  you  imply  that  I  have 
broken  faith  with  Josephine  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  you  lie,  Mademoiselle  E-ose  de  Beaurepaire." 

"  Insolent ! " 

"No.  It  is  you  who  have  insulted  your  sister  as  well 
as  me.  She  was  not  made  to  be  deserted  for  meaner 
women.  Come,  mademoiselle,  affront  me,  and  me  alone, 
and  you  shall  find  me  more  patient.  Oh !  who  would 
have  thought  Beaurepaire  would  receive  me  thus  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  own  fault.  You  never  sent  her  a  line  for 
all  these  years." 

"  Why,  how  could  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  the  information  you  did  not  supply  others 
did.  We  know  that  you  were  seen  in  a  Spanish  village 
drinking  between  two  guerillas." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Camille. 

"  An  honest  French  soldier  fired  at  you.  Why,  he  told 
us  so  himself." 

"  He  told  you  true,"  said  Camille,  sullenly.  "  The  bullet 
grazed  my  hand ;  see,  here  is  the  mark.  Look  ! "  She 
did  look,  and  gave  a  little  scream ;  but  recovering  herself, 
said  she  wished  it  had  gone  through  his  heart.  "  Why 
prolong  this  painful  interview  ?  "  said  she ;  "  the  soldier 
told  us  all." 

"  I  doubt  that,"  said  Camille.  "  Did  he  tell  you  that 
under  the  table  I  was  chained  tight  down  to  the  chair  I 
sat  in  ?  Did  he  tell  you  that  my  hand  was  fastened  to 
a  drinking-horn,  and  my  elbow  to  the  table,  and  two 
fellows  sitting  opposite  me  with  pistols  quietly  covering 
me,  ready  to  draw  the  trigger  if  I  should  utter  a  cry  ? 
Did  he  tell  you  that  I  would  have  uttered  that  cry  and 
died  at  that  table  but  for  one  thing,  I  had  promised  her 
to  live  ?  " 


WHITE   LIES.  155 

"Kot  he;  he  told  me  nothing  so  incredible.  Besides, 
what  became  of  you  all  these  years  ?  You  are  a  double 
traitor,  to  your  country  and  to  her." 

Camille  literally  gasped  for  breath.  "  You  are  a  most 
cruel  young  lady  to  insult  me  so,''  said  he,  and  scalding 
tears  forced  themselves  from  his  eyes. 

Eose  eyed  him  with  merciless  scorn. 

He  fought  manfully  against  this  weakness,  with  which 
his  wound  and  his  fatigue  had  something  to  do,  as  well 
as  Eose's  bitter  words ;  and  after  a  gallant  struggle  he 
returned  her  her  haughty  stare,  and  addressed  her  thus  : 
"  jVIademoiselle,  I  feel  myself  blush,  but  it  is  for  you  I 
blush,  not  for  myself.  This  is  what  ieca/»e  of  me.  I  went 
out  alone  to  explore ;  I  fell  into  an  ambuscade ;  I  shot 
one  of  the  enemy,  and  pinked  another,  but  my  arm  being 
broken  by  a  bullet,  and  my  horse  killed  under  me,  the 
rascals  got  me.  They  took  me  about,  tried  to  make  a 
decoy  of  me  as  I  have  told  you,  and  ended  by  throwing 
me  into  a  dungeon.  They  loaded  me  with  chains,  too, 
though  the  walls  were  ten  feet  thick,  and  the  door  iron, 
and  bolted  and  double-bolted  outside.  And  there  for 
months  and  years,  in  spite  of  wounds,  hunger,  thirst,  and 
all  the  tortures  those  cowards  made  me  suffer,  I  lived, 
because,  Eose,  I  had  promised  some  one  at  that  gate  there 
(and  he  turned  suddenly  and  pointed  to  it)  that  I  would 
come  back  alive.  At  last,  one  night,  my  jailer  came  to 
my  cell  drunk.  I  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  throttled 
him  till  he  was  insensible  ;  his  keys  unlocked  my  fetters, 
and  locked  him  in  the  cell,  and  I  got  safely  outside.  But 
there  a  sentinel  saw  me,  and  fired  at  me.  He  missed  me 
but  ran  after  me,  and  caught  me.  You  see  I  was  stiff, 
confined  so  long.  He  gave  me  a  thrust  of  his  bayonet ; 
1  flung  my  heavy  keys  fiercely  in  his  face  ;  he  staggered; 
I  wrested  his  piece  from  him,  and  disabled  him." 

«Ah!" 


156  WHITE   LIES. 

"  I  crossed  the  frontier  in  the  night,  and  got  to  Bayonne ; 
and  thence,  day  and  night,  to  Paris.  There  1  met  a  reward 
for  all  my  anguish.  They  gave  me  the  epaulets  of  a 
colonel.  See,  here  they  are.  France  does  not  give  these 
to  traitors,  young  lady."  He  held  them  out  to  her  in 
both  hands.  She  eyed  them  half  stupidly ;  all  her 
thoughts  were  on  the  oak-tree  hard  by.  She  began  to 
shudder.  Camille  was  telling  the  truth.  She  felt  that ; 
she  saw  it ;  and  Josephine  was  hearing  it.  "  Ay  !  look 
at  them,  you  naughty  girl,"  said  Camille,  trying  to  be 
jocose  over  it  all  with  his  poor  trembling  lip.  He  went 
on  to  say  that  from  the  moment  he  had  left  dark  Spain, 
and  entered  fair  France  everybody  was  so  kind,  so  sym- 
pathizing. "  They  felt  for  the  poor  worn  soldier  coming 
back  to  his  love.  All  but  you.  Rose.  You  told  me  I 
was  a  traitor  to  her  and  to  France." 

"  I  was  told  so,"  said  Rose,  faintly.  She  was  almost 
at  her  wits'  end  what  to  say  or  do. 

"Well,  are  you  sorry  or  not  sorry  for  saying  such  a 
cruel  thing  to  a  poor  fellow  ?  " 

"  Sorry,  very  sorry,"  whispered  Rose.  She  could  not 
persist  in  injustice,  yet  she  did  not  want  Josephine  to 
hear. 

"  Then  say  no  more  about  it ;  there's  my  hand.  You 
are  not  a  soldier,  and  did  not  know  what  you  were  talk- 
ing about." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  spoke  so  harshly  to  you.  But  you 
understand.  How  you  look;  how  you  pant.  There,  I 
will  show  you  I  forgive  you.  These  epaulets,  dear,  I 
have  never  put  them  on.  I  said,  no ;  Josephine  shall 
put  them  on  for  me.  I  will  take  honor  as  well  as  happi- 
ness from  her  dear  hand.  But  you  are  her  sister,  and 
what  are  epaulets  compared  with  what  she  will  give  me  ? 
You  shall  put  them  on,  dear.  Come,  then  you  will  be 
sure  I  bear  no  malice." 


ROSE    .     .    .    FASTEXED    OX    THE    EPAULETS. 


WHITE   LIES.  157 

Rose,  faint  at  heart,  consented  in  silence,  and  fastened 
on  the  epaulets.  "  Yes,  Cauiille  I "  she  cried,  with  sudden 
terror,  "  think  of  glory,  now ;  nothing  but  glory." 

"No  one  thinks  of  it  more.  But  to-day  how  can  I 
think  of  it,  how  can  I  give  her  a  rival  ?  To-day  I  am 
all  love.  Rose,  no  man  ever  loved  a  human  creature  as 
I  love  Josephine.  Your  mother  is  well,  dear  ?  All  are 
well  at  Beaurepaire  ?  Oh,  where  is  she  all  this  time  ? 
in  the  house  ?  "  He  was  moving  quickly  towards  the 
house;  but  Rose  instinctively  put  out  her  hand  to  stop 
him.     He  recoiled  a  little  and  winced. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  she. 

"  Nothing,  dear  girl ;  you  put  your  hand  on  my  wound, 
that  is  all.  What  is  that  noise  in  the  tree  ?  Anybody 
listening  to  us  ? '' 

"I'll  see,"  said  Rose,  with  all  a  woman's  wit,  and 
whipped  hastily  round  to  hinder  Camille  from  going. 
She  found  Josephine  white  as  death,  apparently  fainting, 
and  clutching  at  the  tree  convulsively  with  her  nails. 
Such  was  the  intensity  of  the  situation  that  she  left  her 
beloved  sister  in  that  piteous  state,  and  even  hoped  she 
would  faint  dead  away,  and  so  hear  no  more.  She  came 
back  Avhite,  and  told  Camille  it  was  only  a  bird  got  into 
the  tree.  "And  to  tliink  you  should  be  wounded,"  said 
she,  to  divert  his  attention  from  the  tree. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "and  it  is  rather  inflamed,  and  has 
worried  me  all  the  way.  You  need  not  go  telling 
Josephine,  though.  They  wanted  me  to  stop  and  lay  up 
at  Bayonne.  How  could  I  ?  And  again  at  Paris.  How 
could  I  ?  They  said, '  You  will  die.'  — '  Not  before  I  get 
to  Beaurepaire,'  said  I.  I  could  bear  the  motion  of  a 
horse  no  longer,  so  at  the  nearest  town  I  asked  for  a  car- 
riage. Would  you  believe  it?  both  his  carriages  were  out 
at  a  weddinff.  1  could  not  wait  till  they  came  back.  I 
had  waited  an  eternity.     I  came  on  foot.     I  dragged  my- 


158  WHITE   LIES. 

self  along;  the  body  was  weak,  but  the  heart  was  strong. 
A  little  way  from  here  my  wound  seemed  inclined  to 
open.  I  pressed  it  together  tight  with  my  hand ;  you 
see  I  could  not  afford  to  lose  any  more  blood,  and  so 
struggled  on.  '  Die  ? '  said  I,  '  not  before  Beaurepaire.' 
And,  0  Rose  !  now  I  could  be  content  to  die  —  at  her 
feet ;  for  I  am  happy.  Oh !  I  am  happy  beyond  words 
to  utter.  What  I  have  gone  through  !  But  I  kept  my 
word,  and  this  is  Beaurepaire.  Hurrah !  "  and  his  pale 
cheek  flushed,  and  his  eye  gleamed,  and  he  waved  his 
hat  feebly  over  his  head,  "  hurrah  !  hurrah !  hurrah  ! " 

"  Oh,  don't !  —  don't !  —  don't ! "  cried  Rose  wild  with 
pity  and  dismay. 

"How  can  I  help?  —  I  am  mad  with  joy  —  hurrah! 
hurrah  !  hurrah ! " 

"  No  !  no !  no  !  no !  no  ! " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  And  must  I  stab  you  worse  than  all  your  enemies 
have  stabbed  you  ?  "  sighed  Rose,  and  tears  of  womanly 
pity  now  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

Camille's  mind  began  to  misgive  him.  What  was 
become  of  Josephine  ?  she  did  not  appear.  He  faltered 
out,  "  Your  mother  is  well ;  all  are  well  I  hope.  Oh, 
where  is  she  ?  "  and  receiving  no  reply,  began  to  tremble 
visibly  with  the  fear  of  some  terrible  calamity. 

Rose,  with  a  sister  fainting  close  by,  and  this  poor 
lover  trembling  before  her,  lost  all  self-command,  and 
began  to  wring  her  hands  and  cry  wildly.  "Camille,"  she 
almost  screamed,  "  there  is  but  one  thing  for  you  to  do ; 
leave  Beaurepaire  on  the  instant :  fly  from  it ;  it  is  no 
place  for  you." 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Camille,  very  quietly. 

When  he  said  that,  with  an  unnatural  and  monotonous 
calm  such  as  precedes  deliberate  suicide,  it  flashed  in  one 
moment  across  Rose  that  it  was  much  best  he  should 
think  so. 


"WHITE  LIES.  159 

She  did  not  reply ;  but  she  drooped  her  head  and  let 
him  think  it. 

"  She  would  have  come  to  me  ere  this  if  she  was  alive," 
said  he.  "  You  are  all  in  white :  they  mourn  in  white 
for  angels  like  her,  that  go  to  heaven,  virgins.  Oh !  I 
was  blind.  You  might  have  told  me  at  once ;  you  see  I 
can  bear  it.  What  does  it  matter  to  one  who  loves  as 
1  love  ?  It  is  only  to  give  her  one  more  proof  I  lived 
only  for  her.  1  would  have  died  a  hundred  times  but 
for  my  promise  to  her.  Yes,  I  am  coming,  love  ;  I  am 
coming." 

He  fell  on  his  knees  and  smiled,  and  whispered,  "I  am 
coming,  Josephine,  I  am  coming." 

A  sob  and  a  moan  as  of  a  creature  dying  in  anguish 
answered  him. 

Kose  screamed  with  terror  when  she  heard  it. 

Camille  rose  to  his  feet,  awestruck.  *'That  was  her 
voice,  behind  this  tree,"  he  whispered. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Rose  ;  "  it  was  me." 

But  at  that  moment  a  rustle  and  a  rush  was  heard  of 
some  one  darting  out  of  the  tree. 

Camille  darted  furiously  round  it  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. Rose  tried  to  stop  him,  but  was  too  late.  The 
next  moment  Raynal's  wife  was  in  his  arms. 


160  WHITE   LIES. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Josephine  wrestled  long  and  terribly  with  nature  in 
that  old  oak-tree.  But  who  can  so  struggle  forever  ? 
Anguish,  remorse,  horror,  despair,  and  love  wrenched 
her  to  and  fro  ;  and  0  mysterious  human  heart !  gleams 
of  a  mad  fitful  joy  shot  through  her,  coming  quick  as 
lightning,  going  as  quickly,  and  leaving  the  despair 
darker.  And  then  the  fierce  struggle  of  the  soul  to 
make  itself  heard !  More  than  once  she  had  to  close  her 
mouth  with  her  hand :  more  than  once  she  seized  her 
throat  not  to  cry  out.  But  as  the  struggle  endured,  she 
got  weaker  and  weaker,  and  nature  mightier  and  mightier. 
And  when  the  wounded  hero  fell  on  his  knees  so  close  to 
her ;  when  he  who  had  resisted  death  so  bravely  for  her, 
prepared  to  give  up  life  calmly  for  her,  her  bosom  rose 
beyond  all  control :  it  seemed  to  fill  to  choking,  then  to 
split  wide  open  and  give  the  struggling  soul  passage  in 
one  gasping  sob  and  heart-stricken  cry.  Could  slie  have 
pent  this  in  she  must  have  died. 

It  betrayed  her.  She  felt  it  had:  so  then  came  the 
woman's  instinct  —  flight:  the  coward's  impulse — flight: 
the  chaste  wife's  inspiration  —  flight.  She  rushed  from 
her  hiding-place  and  made  wildly  for  the  house. 

But,  unluckily,  Camille  was  at  that  moment  darting 
round  the  tree  :  she  ran  right  into  the  danger  she  meant 
to  flee.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms.  He  held  her  irresist- 
ibly. "  I  have  got  her;  I  have  got  her,"  he  shouted  in  wild 
triumph.  "  No  !  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Kone  but  God 
shall  ever  take  you  from  me,  and  he  has  spared  you  to 
me.     You  are  not  dead  :  you  have  kept  faith  as  I  have  : 


WHITE   LIES.  161 

you  have  lived.  See !  look  at  me.  I  am  alive,  I  am 
well,  I  am  happy.  I  told  Rose  that  I  suifered.  If  I  had 
suffered  I  should  remember  it.  It  is  all  gone  at  sight 
of  you,  my  love !  my  love !    Oh,  my  Josephine  !  my  love ! " 

His  arm  was  firm  round  her  waist.  His  glowing  eyes 
poured  love  upon  her.     She  felt  his  beating  heart. 

All  that  passed  in  her  then,  what  mortal  can  say  ? 
She  seemed  two  women  :  that  part  of  her  which  could  not 
get  away  from  his  strong  arm  lost  all  strength  to  resist, 
it  yielded  and  thrilled  under  his  embrace,  i^er  bosom 
heaving  madly :  all  that  was  free  writhed  away  from 
him ;  her  face  was  averted  with  a  glare  of  terroi-,  and 
both  her  hands  put  up  between  his  eyes  and  it. 

"  You  turn  away  your  head,  flose,  she  turns  away. 
Speak  for  me.  Scold  her ;  for  I  don't  know  how  to  scold 
her.  No  answer  from  either ;  oh,  what  has  turned  your 
hearts  against  me  so  ?  " 

"  Camille,"  cried  Rose  —  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks  —  "my  poor  Camille!  leave  Beaurepaire.  Oh, 
leave  it  at  once." 

He  turned  towards  her  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

At  that  Josephine,  like  some  feeble  but  nimble  wild 
creature  on  whom  a  grasp  has  relaxed,  writhed  away 
from  him  and  got  free :  '•  Farewell !  Farewell ! "  she 
cried,  in  despair's  own  voice,  and  made  swiftly  for  the 
house. 

Camille  stood  aghast,  and  did  not  follow  her. 

Now  ere  she  had  gone  many  steps  who  should  meet 
her  right  in  front  but  Jacintha. 

"  Madame  Raynal,  the  baroness's  carriage  is  just  in 
sight.  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know."  Then  she  bawled 
proudly  to  Rose,  "  I  was  the  first  to  call  her  madame ;  " 
and  off  went  Jacintha  convinced  she  had  done  something 
very  clever. 

This  blow  turned  those  three  to  stone. 


162  WHITE   LIES. 

Josephine  had  no  longer  the  power  or  the  wish  to  fly. 
"  Better  so,"  she  thought,  and  she  stood  cowering. 

The  great  passions  that  had  spoken  so  loud  were  struck 
dumb,  and  a  deep  silence  fell  upon  the  place.  Madame 
Raynal's  quivering  eye  turned  slowly  and  askant  towards 
Camille,  but  stopped  in  terror  ere  it  could  see  him.  For 
she  knew  by  this  fearful  stillness  that  the  truth  was 
creeping  on  Camille.     And  so  did  Rose. 

At  last  Camille  spoke  one  word  in  a  low  whisper. 

"  Madame  ?  " 

Dead  silence. 

"  White  ?  both  in  white  ?  " 

Rose  came  between  him  and  Josephine,  and  sobbed 
out,  "Camille,  it  was  our  doing.  We  drove  her  to  it. 
0  sir,  look  how  afraid  of  you  she  is.  Do  not  reproach 
her,  if  you  are  a  man." 

He  waved  her  out  of  his  way  as  if  she  had  been  some 
idle  feather,  and  almost  staggered  up  to  Josephine. 

"  It  is  for  you  to  speak,  my  betrothed :  are  you  mar- 
ried ?  " 

The  poor  creature,  true  to  her  nature,  was  thinking 
more  of  him  than  herself.  Even  in  her  despair  it  flashed 
across  her,  "  If  he  knew  all,  he  too  would  be  wretched 
for  life.  If  I  let  him  think  ill  of  me  he  may  be  happy 
one  day."  She  cowered  the  picture  of  sorrow  and 
tongue-tied  guilt. 

"  Are  you  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  winced  and  quivered  as  if  a  bullet  had  pierced 
him. 

"  This  is  how  I  came  to  be  suspected ;  she  I  loved  was 
false." 

"  Yes,  Camille." 

"No,  no  ! "  cried  Rose  ;  "don't  believe  her :  she  never 
suspected  you.     We  have  brought  her  to  this,  we  alone." 


WHITE    LIES.  163 

"  Be  silent,  Kose  I  oh,  be  silent !  "  gasped  Josephine. 

"  I  lived  for  you :  I  would  have  died  for  you ;  you 
could  not  even  wait  for  me." 

A  low  moan,  but  not  a  word  of  excuse. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  now  ?  " 

"  Forget  me,  Camille,"  said  she  despairingly,  doggedly. 

"  Forget  you  ?  never,  never  !  there  is  but  one  thing 
I  can  do  to  show  you  how  I  loved  you:  I  will  forgive 
you,  and  begone.  "VVhither  shall  I  go  ?  whither  shall  I 
go  now  ?  " 

"Camile,  your  words  stab  her." 

"  Let  none  speak  but  I,"  said  Camille ;  "  none  but 
I  have  the  right  to  speak.  Poor  weak  angel  that  loved 
yet  could  not  wait:  I  forgive  you.  Be  happy,  if  you 
can  ;  I  bid  you  be  hap-py." 

The  quiet,  despairing  tones  died  away,  and  with  them 
life  seemed  to  end  to  her,  and  hope  to  go  out.  He  turned 
his  back  quickly  on  her.  He  cried  hoarsely,  "  To  the 
army  !  Back  to  the  army,  and  a  soldier's  grave  ! " 
Then  with  a  prodigious  effort  he  drew  himself  haughtily 
up  in  marching  attitude.  He  took  three  strides,  erect 
and  fiery  and  bold. 

At  the  next  something  seemed  to  snap  asunder  in  the 
great  heart,  and  the  worn  body  that  heart  had  held  up 
so  long,  rolled  like  a  dead  log  upon  the  ground  with  a 
tremendous  fall. 


164  WHITE   LIES. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  baroness  and  Aubertin  were  just  getting  out  of 
their  carriage,  when  suddenly  they  heard  shrieks  of 
terror  in  the  Pleasaunce.  They  came  with  quaking 
hearts  as  fast  as  their  old  limbs  would  carry  them. 
They  found  Rose  and  Josephine  crouched  over  the  body 
of  a  man,  an  officer. 

Rose  was  just  tearing  open  his  collar  and  jacket. 
Dard  and  Jacintha  had  run  from  the  kitchen  at  the 
screams.  Camille  lay  on  his  back,  white  and  motion- 
less. 

The  doctor  was  the  first  to  come  up.  "  Who  !  what  is 
this  ?  I  seem  to  know  his  face."  Then  shaking  his 
head,  "  Whoever  it  is,  it  is  a  bad  case.  Stand  away, 
ladies.     Let  me  feel  his  pulse." 

Whilst  the  old  man  was  going  stiffly  down  on  one 
knee,  Jacintha  uttered  a  cry  of  terror.  "  See,  see !  his 
shirt !  that  red  streak  !  Ah,  ah  !  it  is  getting  bigger 
and  bigger : "  and  she  turned  faint  in  a  moment,  and 
would  have  fallen  but  for  Dard. 

The  doctor  looked.  "  All  the  better,"  said  he  firmly. 
"  I  thought  he  was  dead.  His  blood  flows  ;  then  I  will 
save  him.  Don't  clutch  me  so,  Josephine;  don't  cling 
to  me  like  that.  Now  is  the  time  to  show  your  breed  : 
not  turn  sick  at  the  sight  of  a  little  blood,  like  that 
foolish  creature,  but  help  me  save  him." 

"  Take  him  in-doors,"  cried  the  baroness. 

"  Into  our  house,  mamma  ?  "  gasped  Rose  ;  "no,  no." 

"  What,"  said  the  baroness,  "  a  wounded  soldier  who 
has  fought  for  France  !  leave  him  to  lie  and  die  outside 


WHITE   LIES.  165 

my  door :  wliat  would  my  son  say  to  that  ?  He  is  a 
soldier  himself." 

Rose  cast  a  hasty  look  at  Josephine.  Josephine's 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  ground,  and  her  hands  clenched 
and  trembling. 

"  Xow,  Jacintha,  you  be  off,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
can't  have  cowards  about  him  to  make  the  others  as  bad. 
Go  and  stew  down  a  piece  of  good  beef  for  him.  Stew 
it  in  red  wine  and  water." 

"  That  I  will :  poor  thing  !  " 

"  Why,  I  know  him,"  said  the  baroness  suddenly  ;  "  it 
is  an  old  acquaintance,  young  Dujardin  :  you  remember, 
Josephine.  I  used  to  suspect  him  of  a  fancy  for  you, 
poor  fellow !  Why,  he  must  have  come  here  to  see  us, 
poor  soul." 

"  No  matter  who  it  is ;  it  is  a  man.  Now,  girls,  have 
3'ou  courage,  have  you  humanity  ?  Then  come  one  on 
each  side  of  him  and  take  hands  beneath  his  back,  while 
I  lift  his  head  and  Dard  his  legs." 

"  And  handle  him  gently  whatever  you  do,"  said  Dard. 
"  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  wounded." 

These  four  carried  the  lifeless  burden  very  slowly  and 
gently  across  the  Pleasaunce  to  the  house,  then  with 
more  difficulty  and  caution  up  the  stairs. 

All  the  while  the  sisters'  hands  griped  one  another 
tight  beneath  the  lifeless  burden,  and  spoke  to  one 
another.  And  Josephine's  arm  upheld  tenderly  but  not 
weakly  the  hero  she  had  struck  down.  She  avoided 
Rose's  eye,  her  mother's,  and  even  the  doctor's :  one 
gasping  sob  escaped  her  as  she  walked  with  head  half 
averted,  and  vacant,  terror-stricken  eyes,  and  her  victim 
on  her  sustaining  arm. 

The  doctor  selected  the  tapestried  chamber  for  him  as 
being  most  airy.  Then  he  ordered  the  women  out,  and 
with  Dard's  help  undressed  the  still  insensible  patient. 


166  WHITE   LIES. 

Josephine  sat  down  on  the  stairs  in  gloomy  silence, 
her  eyes  on  the  ground,  like  one  waiting  for  her  death- 
blow. 

Rose,  sick  at  heart,  sat  silent  too  at  some  distance. 
At  last  she  said  faintly,  "  Have  we  done  well  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Josephine  doggedly.  Her  eyes 
never  left  the  ground. 

"We  could  not  let  him  die  for  want  of  care." 

"  He  will  not  thank  us.  Better  for  him  to  die  than 
live.     Better  for  me." 

At  this  instant  Dard  came  running  down.  "  Good 
news,  mesdemoiselles,  good  news !  the  wound  runs  all 
along;  it  is  not  deep,  like  mine  was.  He  has  opened 
his  eyes  and  shut  them  again.  The  dear  good  doctor 
stopped  the  blood  in  a  twinkle.  The  doctor  says  he'll 
be  bound  to  save  him.  I  must  run  and  tell  Jacintha. 
She  is  taking  on  in  the  kitchen." 

Josephine,  who  had  risen  eagerly  from  her  despairing 
posture,  clasped  her  hands  together,  then  lifted  up  her 
voice  and  wept.     "  He  will  live  !  he  will  live ! " 

When  she  had  wept  a  long  while,  she  said  to  Rose, 
"Come,  sister,  help  your  poor  Josephine." 

"  Yes,  love,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"My  duty,"  faltered  Josephine.  "An  hour  ago  it 
seemed  so  sweet,"  and  she  fell  to  weeping  patiently 
again.  They  went  to  Josephine's  room.  She  crept 
slowly  to  a  wardrobe,  and  took  out  a  gray  silk  dress, 

"  Oh,  never  mind  for  to-day,"  cried  Rose. 

"  Help  me.  Rose.  It  is  for  myself  as  well ;  to  remind 
me  every  moment  T  am  Madame  Raynal." 

They  put  the  gray  gown  on  her,  both  weeping  patiently. 
It  will  be  known  at  the  last  day,  all  that  honest  women 
have  suffered  weeping  silently  in  this  noisy  world. 

Camille  soon  recovered  his  senses  and  a  portion  of  his 


WHITE   LIES.  167 

strength :  then  the  irritation  of  his  wound  brought  on 
fever.  This  in  turn  retired  before  the  doctor's  remedies 
and  a  sound  constitution,  but  it  left  behind  it  a  great 
weakness  and  general  prostration.  And  in  this  state  the 
fate  of  the  body  depends  greatly  on  the  mind. 

The  baroness  and  the  doctor  went  constantly  to  see' 
him,  and  soothe  him  :  he  smiled  and  thanked  them,  but 
his  eager  eyes  watched  the  door  for  one  who  came  not. 

When  he  got  well  enough  to  leave  his  bed  the  largest 
couch  was  sent  up  to  him  from  the  saloon ;  a  kind  hand 
lined  the  baron's  silk  dressing-gown  for  him  Avarm  and 
soft  and  nice ;  and  he  would  sit  or  lie  on  his  couch,  or 
take  two  turns  in  the  room  leaning  upon  Rose's  shoulder, 
and  glad  of  the  support ;  and  he  looked  piteously  in  her 
eyes  when  she  came  and  when  she  went.  Rose  looked 
down ;  she  could  do  nothing,  she  could  say  nothing. 

With  his  strength,  Camille  lost  a  portion  of  his  pride  : 
he  pined  for  a  sight  of  her  he  no  longer  respected  ;  pined 
for  her,  as  the  thirsty  pine  for  water  in  Sahara. 

At  last  one  day  he  spoke  out.  "  How  kind  you  are  to 
me.  Rose  !  how  kind  you  all  are  —  but  one." 

He  waited  in  hopes  she  would  say  something,  but  she 
held  her  tongue. 

"At  least  tell  me  why  it  is.  Is  she  ashamed?  Is  she 
afraid  ?  " 

"  Neither." 

"  She  hates  me :  it  is  true,  then,  that  we  hate  those 
whom  we  have  wounded.  Cruel,  cruel  Josephine  !  Oh, 
heart  of  marble  against  which  my  heart  has  wrecked 
itself  forever ! " 

"  No,  no  !  She  is  anything  but  cruel :  but  she  is 
Madame  Raynal." 

" Ah  !  I  forgot.  But  have  I  no  claim  on  her?  Nearly 
four  years  she  has  been  my  betrothed.  Wliat  have  I 
done  ?     Was  I  ever  false  to  her  ?     I  could  forgive  her 


168  WHITE   LIES. 

for  what  she  has  done  to  me,  but  she  cannot  forgive  me. 
Does  she  mean  never  to  see  me  again  ?  " 

"Ask  yourself  what  good  could  come  of  it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Camille,  with  a  malicious  smile. 
"  I  am  in  her  way.  1  see  what  she  wants ;  she  shall 
have  it." 

Rose  carried  these  words  to  Josephine.  They  went 
through  her  like  a  sword. 

Rose  pitied  her.     Rose  had  a  moment's  weakness. 

"  Let  us  go  to  him,"  she  said  ;  "  anything  is  better 
than  this." 

"Rose,  I  dare  not,"  was  the  wise  reply. 

But  the  next  day  early,  Josephine  took  Rose  to  a  door 
outside  the  house,  a  door  that  had  long  been  disused. 
Nettles  grew  before  it.  She  produced  a  key  and  with 
great  difficulty  opened  this  door.  It  led  to  the  tapestried 
chamber,  and  years  ago  they  used  to  steal  up  it  and  peep 
into  the  room. 

Rose  scarcely  needed  to  be  told  that  she  was  to  watch 
Camille,  and  report  to  her.  In  truth,  it  was  a  mysteri- 
ous, vague  protection  against  a  danger  equally  myste- 
rious. Yet  it  made  Josephine  easier.  But  so  unflinching 
was  her  prudence  that  she  never  once  could  be  prevailed 
on  to  mount  those  stairs,  and  peep  at  Camille  herself. 
"I  must  starve  my  heart,  not  feed  it,"  said  she.  And 
she  grew  paler  and  more  hollow-eyed  day  by  day. 

Yet  this  was  the  same  woman  who  showed  such  feeble- 
ness and  irresolution  when  Raynal  pressed  her  to  marry 
him.  But  then  dwarfs  feebly  drew  her  this  way  and 
that.  Now  giants  fought  for  her.  Between  a  feeble 
inclination  and  a  feeble  disinclination  her  dead  heart 
had  drifted  to  and  fro.  Now  honor,  duty,  gratitude,  — 
which  last  with  her  was  a  passion,  —  dragged  her  one 
way  :  love,  pity,  and  remorse  another. 

Not  one  of  these  giants  would  relax  his  grasp,  and 


WHITE   LIES.  169 

nothing  yielded  except  her  vital  powers.  Yes  ;  her  tem- 
per, one  of  the  loveliest  Heaven  ever  gave  a  human  creat- 
ure, was  soured  at  times. 

Was  it  a  wonder  ?  There  lay  the  man  she  loved 
pining  for  her ;  cursing  her  for  her  cruelty,  and  alter- 
nately praying  Heaven  to  forgive  him  and  to  bless  her  : 
sighing,  at  intervals,  all  the  day  long,  so  loud,  so  deep,  so 
piteously,  as  if  his  heart  broke  with  each  sigh  ;  and 
sometimes,  for  he  little  knew,  poor  soul,  that  any  human 
eye  was  upon  him,  casting  aside  his  manhood  in  his 
despair,  and  flinging  himself  on  the  very  floor,  and  muf- 
fling his  head,  and  sobbing  ;  he  a  hero. 

And  here  was  she  pining  in  secret  for  him  who  pined 
for  her  ?  "I  am  not  a  woman  at  all,"  said  she,  who  was 
all  woman.  "I  am  crueller  to  him  than  a  tiger  or  any 
savage  creature  is  to  the  victim  she  tears.  I  must  cure 
him  of  his  love  for  me  ;  and  then  die  ;  for  what  shall 
I  have  to  live  for  ?  He  weeps,  he  sighs,  he  cries  for 
Josephine." 

Her  enforced  cruelty  was  more  contrary  to  this  woman's 
nature  than  black  is  to  white,  or  heat  to  cold,  and  the 
heart  rebelled  furiously  at  times.  As  Avhen  a  rock  tries 
to  stem  a  current,  the  water  fights  its  way  on  more  sides 
than  one,  so  insulted  nature  dealt  with  Josephine.  Xot 
only  did  her  body  pine,  but  her  nerves  were  exasperated. 
Sudden  twitches  came  over  her,  that  almost  made  her 
scream.  Her  permanent  state  was  utter  despondency, 
but  across  it  came  litful  flashes  of  irritation  ;  and  then 
she  was  scarce  mistress  of  herself. 

Wherefore  you,  who  find  some  holy  woman  cross  and 
bitter,  stop  a  moment  before  you  sum  her  up  vixen  and 
her  religion  naught :  inquire  the  history  of  her  heart : 
perhaps  beneath  the  smooth  cold  surface  of  duties  well 
discharged,  her  life  has  been,  or  even  is,  a  battle  against 
some  self-indulgence  the  insignificant  saint's  very  blood 


170  WHITE  LIES, 

cries  out  for :  and  so  the  poor  tiling  is  cross,  not  because 
she  is  bad,  but  because  she  is  better  than  the  rest  of  us  ; 
yet  only  human. 

Now  though  Josephine  was  more  on  her  guard  with 
the  baroness  than  with  Rose,  or  the  doctor,  or  Jacintha, 
her  state  could  not  altogether  escape  the  vigilance  of  a 
mother's  eye. 

But  the  baroness  had  not  the  clew  we  have ;  and  what 
a  diiference  that  makes  !  How  small  an  understanding, 
put  by  accident  or  instruction  on  the  right  track,  shall 
run  the  game  down  !  How  great  a  sagacity  shall  wander 
if  it  gets  on  a  false  scent ! 

"Doctor,"  said  the  baroness  one  day,  "you  are  so 
taken  up  with  your  patient  you  neglect  the  rest  of  us. 
Do  look  at  Josephine  !  She  is  ill,  or  going  to  be  ill.  She 
is  so  pale,  and  so  fretful,  so  peevish,  which  is  not  in  her 
nature.     Would  you  believe  it,  doctor,  she  snaps  ?  " 

"  Our  Josephine  snap  ?     This  is  new." 

"  And  snarls." 

"  Then  look  for  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  The  other  day  I  heard  her  snap  Rose :  and  this 
morning  she  half  snarled  at  me,  just  because  I  pressed 
her  to  go  and  console  our  patient.  Hush !  here  she  is. 
My  child,  I  am  accusing  you  to  the  doctor.  I  tell  him 
you  neglect  his  patient :  never  go  near  him." 

"  I  will  visit  him  one  of  these  days,"  said  Josephine, 
coldly. 

" One  of  these  days,"  said  the  baroness,  shocked.  "You 
used  not  to  be  so  hard-hearted.  A  soldier,  an  old  comrade 
of  your  husband's,  wounded  and  sick,  and  you  alone  never 
go  to  him,  to  console  him  with  a  word  of  sympathy  or 
encouragement." 

Josephine  looked  at  her  mother  with  a  sort  of  incredu- 
lous stare.  Then,  after  a  struggle,  she  replied  with  a 
tone  and  manner  so  spiteful  and  icy  that  it  would  have 


WHITE   LIES.  171 

deceived  even  us  who  know  her  had  we  heard  it.  "  He 
has  plenty  of  nurses  Avithout  me."  She  added,  almost 
violently,  "  My  husband,  if  he  were  wounded,  would  not 
have  so  many,  perhaps  not  have  one." 

With  this  she  rose  and  went  out,  leaving  them  aghast. 
She  sat  down  in  the  passage  on  a  window-seat,  and 
laughed  hysterically.  Eose  heard  her  and  ran  to  her. 
Josephine  told  her  what  her  mother  had  said  to  her. 
Eose  soothed  her.  "  Never  mind,  you  have  your  sister 
who  understands  you :  don't  you  go  back  till  they  have 
got  some  other  topic." 

Eose  out  of  curiosity  went  in,  and  found  a  discussion 
going  on.  The  doctor  was  fathoming  Josephine,  for  the 
benefit  of  his  companion. 

"It  is  a  female  jealousy,  and  of  a  mighty  innocent 
kind.  We  are  so  taken  up  with  this  poor  fellow,  she 
thinks  her  soldier  is  forgotten." 

"  Surely,  doctor,  our  Josephine  would  not  be  so  unrea- 
sonable, so  unjust,"  suggested  her  mother. 

"She  belongs  to  a  sex,  be  it  said  without  offending 
you,  madame,  among  whose  numberless  virtues  justice 
does  not  fill  a  prominent  place." 

The  baroness  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  not  it.  It  is 
a  piece  of  prudery.  This  young  gentleman  was  a  sort 
of  admirer  of  hers,  though  she  did  not  admire  him  much, 
as  far  as  1  remember.  But  it  was  four  years  ago ;  and 
she  is  married  to  a  man  she  loves,  or  is  going  to  love." 

"Well,  but,  mamma,  a  trifling  excess  of  delicacy  is 
surely  excusable."     This  from  Eose. 

"]S"o,  no;  it  is  not  delicacy;  it  is  prudery.  And  when 
people  are  sick  and  suffering,  an  honest  woman  should 
take  up  her  charity  and  lay  down  her  prudery,  or  her 
coquetry :  two  things  that  I  suspect  are  the  same  thing 
in  different  shapes." 

Here  Jacintha  came  in.     ''  Mademoiselle,  here  is  the 


172  WHITE   LIES. 

colonel's  broth ;  Madame  Raynal  has  flavored  it  for  him, 
and  you  are  to  take  it  up  to  him,  and  keep  him  company 
while  he  eats  it." 

"  Come,"  cried  the  baroness,  "  my  lecture  has  not  been 
lost." 

Rose  followed  Jacintha  up-stairs. 

Rose  was  heart  and  head  on  Raynal's  side. 

She  had  deceived  him  about  Josephine's  attachment, 
and  felt  all  the  more  desirous  to  guard  him  against  any 
ill  consequences  of  it.  Then  he  had  been  so  generous  to 
her :  he  had  left  her  her  sister,  who  would  have  gone  to 
Egypt,  and  escaped  this  misery,  but  for  her. 

But  on  the  other  hand, 

—  Gentle  j^ity 
Tugged  at  her  heai'tstrings  with  complaining  cries. 

This  watching  of  Camille  saddened  even  her.  When 
she  was  with  him  his  pride  bore  him  up :  but  when  he 
was  alone  as  he  thought,  his  anguish  and  despair  were 
terrible,  and  broke  out  in  so  many  ways  that  often  Rose 
shrank  in  terror  from  her  peep  hole. 

She  dared  not  tell  Josephine  the  half  of  what  she 
saw  :  what  she  did  tell  her  agitated  her  so  terribly :  and 
often  Rose  had  it  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  say,  "  Do 
pray  go  and  see  if  you  can  say  nothing  that  will  do  him 
good ; "  but  she  fought  the  impulse  down.  This  battle 
of  feeling,  though  less  severe  than  her  sister's,  was  con- 
stant ;  it  destroyed  her  gayety.  She,  whose  merry  laugh 
used  to  ring  like  chimes  through  the  house,  never  laughed 
now,  seldom  smiled,  and  often  sighed. 

Dr.  Aubertin  was  the  last  to  succumb  to  the  deep 
depression,  but  his  time  came :  and  he  had  been  for  a 
day  or  two  as  grave  and  as  sad  as  the  rest,  when  one  day 
that  Rose  was  absent,  spying  on  Camille,  he  took  the 
baroness  and  Josephine  into  his  confidence;  and  con- 
descended finally  to  ask  their  advice. 


WHITE   LIES.  173 

"  It  is  humiliating,"  said  he,  "  after  all  my  experience, 
to  be  obliged  to  consult  unprofessional  persons.  Forty 
years  ago  I  should  have  been  too  wise  to  do  so.  But 
since  then  I  have  often  seen  science  balHed  and  untrained 
intelligences  throw  light  upon  hard  questions  :  and  your 
sex  in  particular  has  luminous  instincts  and  reads  things 
by  flashes  that  we  men  miss  Avith  a  microscope.  Oar 
dear  Madame  Kaynal  suspected  that  plausible  notary, 
and  to  this  day  I  believe  she  could  not  tell  us  why." 

Josephine  admitted  as  much  very  frankly. 

"  There  you  see,"  said  the  doctor.  *'  Well,  then,  you 
must  help  me  in  this  case.  And  this  time  I  promise  to 
treat  your  art  with  more  respect." 

"  And  pray  who  is  it  she  is  to  read  now  ?  "  asked  the 
baroness. 

"  Who  should  it  be  but  my  poor  patient  ?  He  puzzles 
me.     I  never  knew  a  patient  so  faint-hearted." 

''  A  soldier  faint-hearted  !  "  exclaimed  the  baroness. 
''  To  be  sure  these  men  that  storm  cities,  and  fire  cannon, 
and  cut  and  hack  one  another  with  so  much  spirit,  are 
poor  creatures  compared  with  us  when  they  have  to  lie 
quiet  and  suffer." 

The  doctor  walked  the  room  in  great  excitement.  "  It 
is  not  his  wound  that  is  killing  him,  there's  something 
on  his  mind.  You,  Josephine,  with  your  instincts  do 
help  me  :  do  pray,  for  pity's  sake,  throw  off  that  sublime 
indifference  you  have  manifested  all  along  to  this  man's 
fate." 

"  She  has  not,"  cried  the  baroness,  firing  up.  "  Did  I 
not  see  her  lining  his  dressing-gown  for  him  ?  and  slie 
inspects  everything  that  he  eats  :  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  mother."  She  then  suggested  in  a  faltering 
voice  that  time  would  cure  the  patient,  and  time  alone. 

"Time!  you  speak  as  if  time  was  a  quality:  time  is 
only  a  measure  of  events,  favorable  or  unfavorable  j  it 
kills  as  many  as  it  cures." 


174  WHITE   LIES. 

"Why,  you  surely  would  not  imply  his  life  is  in  any 
danger  ?  "     This  was  the  baroness. 

"  Madame,  if  the  case  was  not  grave,  should  I  take  this 
unusual  step  ?  I  tell  you  if  some  change  does  not  take 
place  soon,  he  will  be  a  dead  man  in  another  fortnight. 
That  is  all  thne  will  do  for  him." 

The  baroness  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pity  and  dis- 
tress. Josephine  put  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  a 
creeping  horror  came  over  her,  and  then  a  faintness. 
She  sat  working  mechanically,  and  turning  like  ice 
within.  After  a  few  minutes  of  this,  she  rose  with 
every  appearance  of  external  composure  and  left  the 
room.  In  the  passage  she  met  Rose  coming  hastily 
towards  the  salon  laughing :  the  first  time  she  had 
laughed  this  many  a  day.  Oh,  what  a  contrast  between 
the  two  faces  that  met  there  —  the  one  pale  and  horror- 
stricken,  the  other  rosy  and  laughing ! 

"  Well,  dear,  at  last  I  am  paid  for  all  my  trouble,  and 
yours,  by  a  discovery ;  he  never  drinks  a  drop  of  his 
medicine ;  he  pours  it  into  the  ashes  under  the  grate ;  I 
caught  him  in  the  fact." 

"Then  this  is  too  much  :  I  can  resist  no  longer.  Come 
with  me,"  said  Josephine  doggedly. 

"  Where  ?  " 

"To  him." 


WHITE    LIES.  176 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Josephine  paused  on  the  lauding,  and  laid  her  hand 
on  Eose's  shoulder.  It  was  so  cold  it  made  Rose  shud- 
der, and  exacted  a  promise  from  her  not  to  contradict 
a  word  she  should  say  to  Camille.  "  I  do  not  go  to  him 
for  my  pleasure,  but  for  his  life,"  she  said ;  "  I  must 
deceive  him  and  save  him ;  and  then  let  me  lie  down 
and  die." 

"  Oh,  that  the  wretch  had  never  been  born !  "  cried 
Rose,  in  despair.  But  she  gave  the  required  promise, 
and  offered  to  go  and  tell  Camille  Josephine  was  coming 
to  visit  him. 

But  Josephine  declined  this.  "No,"  said  she;  "give 
me  every  advantage  ;  I  must  think  beforehand  every 
word  I  shall  say ;  but  take  him  by  surprise,  coward  and 
doubleface  that  I  am." 

Rose  knocked  at  the  door.  A  faint  voice  said,  "  Come 
in."  The  sisters  entered  the  room  very  softly.  Camille 
sat  on  the  sofa,  his  head  bowed  over  his  hands.  A  glance 
showed  Josephine  that  he  was  doggedly  and  resolutely 
thrusting  himself  into  the  grave.  Thinking  it  was  only 
Rose  —  for  he  had  now  lost  all  hope  of  seeing  Josephine 
come  in  at  the  door  —  he  never  moved.  Some  one  glided 
gently  but  rapidly  up  to  him.  He  looked  up.  Josephine 
was  kneeling  to  him. 

He  lifted  his  head  with  a  start,  and  trembled  all  over. 

She  whispered,  "  I  am  come  to  you  to  beg  your  pity ; 
to  appeal  to  your  generosity ;  to  ask  a  favor ;  I  who 
deserve  so  little  of  you." 

"You  have  waited  a  long  time,"  said  Camille,  agitated 
greatly;  "and  so  have  I." 


176  WHITE    LIES. 

"Camille,  you  are  torturing  one  who  loved  you  once, 
and  who  has  been  very  weak  and  faithless,  but  not  so 
wicked  as  she  appears." 

"  How  am  I  torturing  you  ?  " 

<'  With  remorse ;  do  I  not  suffer  enough  ?  Would 
you  make  me  a  murderess  ?  " 

"  Why  have  you  never  been  near  me  ? "  retorted 
Camille.  "  I  could  forgive  your  weakness,  but  not  your 
heartlessness." 

"  It  is  my  duty.  I  have  no  right  to  seek  your  society. 
If  you  really  want  mine,  you  have  only  to  get  well,  and 
60  join  us  down-stairs  a  week  or  two  before  you  leave  us." 

"  How  am  I  to  get  Avell  ?     My  heart  is  broken." 

"Camille,  be  a  man.  Do  not  fling  away  a  soldier's 
life  because  a  fickle,  worthless  woman  could  not  wait  for 
you. .  Forgive  me  like  a  man,  or  else  revenge  yourself 
like  a  man.  If  you  cannot  forgive  me,  kill  me.  See,  I 
kneel  at  your  feet.     I  will  not  resist  you.     Kill  me." 

"  I  wish  I  could.  Oh  !  if  I  could  kill  you  with  a  look 
and  myself  with  a  wish !  No  man  should  ever  take  you 
from  me,  then.  We  would  be  together  in  the  grave  at 
this  hour.  Do  not  tempt  me,  I  say ; "  and  he  cast  a  ter- 
rible look  of  love,  and  hatred,  and  despair  upon  her. 
Her  purple  eye  never  winced ;  it  poured  back  tenderness 
and  aifection  in  return.  He  saw  and  turned  away  with 
a  groan,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  seized  it  and 
kissed  it.  "  You  are  great,  you  are  generous ;  you  will 
not  strike  me  as  a  woman  strikes ;  you  will  not  die  to 
drive  me  to  despair." 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  more  gently,  "  love  is  gone,  but  pity 
remains.     I  thought  that  was  gone,  too." 

"  Yes,  Camille,"  said  Josephine,  in  a  whisper,  "  pity 
remains,  and  remorse  and  terror  at  what  I  have  done  to 
a  man  of  whom  I  was  never  worthy." 

"  Well,  madame,  as  you  have  come  at  last  to  me,  and 


WHITE   LIES.  177 

even  do  me  the  honor  to  ask  me  a  favor  —  I  shall  try  — 
if  only  out  of  courtesy  —  to  —  ah,  Josephine  !  Josephine  ! 
when  did  I  ever  refuse  a-ou  an^- thing  ?  " 

At  this  Josephine  sank  into  a  chair,  and  burst  out 
crying.  Camille,  at  this,  began  to  cry  too ;  and  the  two 
poor  things  sat  a  long  way  from  one  another,  and  sobbed 
bitterly. 

The  man,  weakened  as  he  was,  recovered  his  quiet 
despair  first. 

"  Don't  cry  so,"  said  he.  "■  But  tell  me  what  is  your 
will,  and  I  shall  obey  you  as  I  used  before  any  one  came 
between  us." 

"Then,  live,  Camille.     I  implore  you  to  live." 

"  Well,  Josephine,  since  you  care  about  it,  I  will  try 
and  live.  "Why  did  not  you  come  before  and  ask  me  ? 
I  thought  I  was  in  your  wa3^  I  thought  you  wanted  me 
dead." 

Josephine  cast  a  look  of  wonder  and  anguish  on 
Camille,  but  she  said  nothing.  She  rang  the  bell,  and, 
on  Jacintha  coming  up,  despatched  her  to  Dr.  Aubertin 
for  the  patient's  medicine. 

"Tell  the  doctor,"  said  she,  "Colonel  Dujardin  has  let 
fall  the  glass."  While  Jacintha  was  gone,  she  scolded 
Camille  gently.  "  How  could  you  be  so  unkind  to  the 
poor  doctor  who  loves  you  so?  Only  think:  to  throw 
away  his  medicines  !  Look  at  the  ashes ;  they  are  wet. 
Camille,  are  you,  too,  becoming  disingenuous  ?  " 

Jacintha  came  in  with  the  tonic  in  a  glass,  and  retired 
with  an  obeisance.     Josephine  took  it  to  Camille. 

"  Drink  with  me,  then,"  said  he,  "  or  I  will  not  toucli 
it."  Josephine  took  the  glass.  "  I  drink  to  your  health, 
Camille,  and  to  your  glory  ;  laurels  to  your  brow,  and 
some  faithful  Avoman  to  your  heart,  who  will  make  you 
forget  this  folly :  it  is  for  her  I  am  saving  you."  She 
put  the  glass  with  well-acted  spirit  to  her  lips;  but  in 
12 


178  WHITE   LIES. 

the  very  action  a  spasm  seized  her  throat  and  almost 
choked  her;  she  lowered  her  head  that  he  might  not  see 
her  face,  and  tried  again ;  but  the  tears  burst  from  her 
eyes  and  ran  into  the  liquid,  and  her  lips  trembled  over 
the  brim,  and  were  paralyzed. 

"  No,  no  !  give  it  me  ! "  he  cried ;  "  there  is  a  tear  of 
yours  in  it."  He  drank  off  the  bitter  remedy  now  as  if 
it  had  been  nectar. 

Josephine  blushed. 

"  If  you  wanted  me  to  live,  why  did  you  not  come  here 
before  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  you  Avould  be  so  foolish,  so  wicked, 
so  cruel  as  to  do  what  3'ou  have  been  doing." 

"Come  and  shine  upon  me  every  day,  and  you  shall 
have  no  fresh  cause  of  complaint ;  things  flourish  in  the 
sunshine  that  die  in  the  dark :  Rose,  it  is  as  if  the  sun 
had  come  into  my  prison ;  you  are  pale,  but  you  are 
beautiful  as  ever  —  more  beautiful;  what  a  sweet  dress  ! 
so  quiet,  so  modest,  it  sets  off  your  beauty  instead  of 
vainly  trying  to  vie  with  it."  With  this  he  put  out  his 
hand  and  took  her  gray  silk  dress,  and  went  to  kiss  it  as 
a  devotee  kisses  the  altar  steps. 

She  snatched  it  away  with  a  shudder. 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  said  she;  "thank  you  for  notic- 
ing my  dress  ;  it  is  a  beautiful  dress  —  ha  !  ha !  A  dress 
I  take  a  pride  in  wearing,  and  always  shall,  I  hope.  I 
mean  to  be  buried  in  it.  Come,  Rose.  Thank  you, 
Camille ;  you  are  very  good,  you  have  once  more  prom- 
ised me  to  live.  Get  well ;  come  down-stairs  ;  then  you 
will  see  me  every  da}',  j'ou  know  —  there  is  a  temptation. 
Good-by,  Camille  !  —  are  you  coming.  Rose  ?  What  are 
you  loitering  for  ?  God  bless  you,  and  comfort  you,  and 
help  you  to  forget  what  it  is  madness  to  remember ! " 

With  these  wild  words  she  literally  fled ;  and  in  one 
moment  the  room  seemed  to  darken  to  Camille. 


WHITE   LIES.  179 

Outside  the  door  Josephine  caught  hold  of  Rose. 
"  Have  I  committed  myself  ?  " 

"Over  and  over  again.  Do  not  look  so  terrified;  I 
mean  to  me,  but  not  to  him.  How  blind  he  is !  and  how 
much  better  you  must  know  him  than  I  do  to  venture  on 
such  a  transparent  deceit.  He  believes  whatever  you 
tell  him.  He  is  all  ears  and  no  eyes.  Yes,  love,  I 
watched  him  keenly  all  the  time.  He  really  thinks  it  is 
pity  and  remorse,  nothing  more.  ]My  poor  sister,  you 
have  a  hard  life  to  lead,  a  hard  game  to  play ;  but  so  far 
you  have  succeeded ;  yet  could  look  poor  Raynal  in  the 
face  if  he  came  home  to-day." 

'^  Then  God  be  thanked ! "  cried  Josephine.  "  I  am  as 
happy  to-day  as  I  can  ever  hope  to  be.  Xow  let  us  go 
through  the  farce  of  dressing  —  it  is  near  dinner-time  — 
and  then  the  farce  of  talking,  and,  hardest  of  all,  the 
farce  of  living." 

From  that  hour  Camille  began  to  get  better  very 
slowly,  yet  perceptibly. 

The  doctor,  afraid  of  being  mistaken,  said  nothing  for 
some  days,  but  at  last  he  announced  the  good  news  at 
the  dinner-table.  "  He  is  to  come  down-stairs  in  three 
days,"  added  the  doctor. 

But  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  as  Camille's  body  strength- 
ened some  of  the  worst  passions  in  our  nature  attacked 
him.  Fierce  gusts  of  hate  and  love  combined  overpow- 
ered this  man's  high  sentiments  of  honor  and  justice, 
and  made  him  clench  his  teeth,  and  vow  never  to  leave 
Beaurepaire  without  Josephine.  She  had  been  his  four 
years  before  she  ever  saw  this  interloper,  and  she  should 
be  his  forever.  Her  love  would  soon  revive  when  they 
should  meet  every  day,  and  she  would  end  by  eloping 
with  him. 

Then  conscience  pricked  him,  and  reminded  him  how 
and  why  Kayual  had  married  her:  for  Rose  had  told  him 


180  WHITE    LIES. 

all.  Should  he  undermine  an  absent  soldier,  whose 
whole  conduct  in  this  had  been  so  pure,  so  generous,  so 
unselfish  ? 

But  this  was  not  all.  As  I  have  already  hinted,  he 
was  under  a  great  personal  obligation  to  his  quondam 
comrade  Kaynal.  Whenever  this  was  vividly  present  to 
his  mind,  a  great  terror  fell  on  him,  and  he  would  cry 
out  in  anguish,  "  Oh !  that  some  angel  would  come  to 
me  and  tear  me  by  force  from  this  place ! "  And  the 
next  moment  passion  swept  over  him  like  a  flood,  and 
carried  away  all  his  virtuous  resolves.  His  soul  was  in 
deep  waters ;  great  waves  drove  it  to  and  fro.  Perilous 
condition,  which  seldom  ends  well.  Camille  was  a  man 
of  honor.  In  no  other  earthly  circumstance  could  he 
have  hesitated  an  instant  between  right  and  wrong. 
But  such  na,tures,  proof  against  all  other  temptations, 
have  often  fallen,  and  will  fall,  where  sin  takes  the 
angel  form  of  her  they  love.  Yet,  of  all  men,  they 
should  pray  for  help  to  stand ;  for  when  they  fall  they 
still  retain  one  thing  that  divides  them  from  mean 
sinners. 

Remorse,  the  giant  that  rends  the  great  hearts  which 
mock  at  fear. 

The  day  came  in  which  the  doctor  had  promised  his 
patient  he  should  come  down-stairs.  First  his  comfort- 
able sofa  was  taken  down  into  the  saloon  for  his  use : 
then  the  patient  himself  came  down  leaning  on  the 
doctor's  arm,  and  his  heart  palpitating  at  the  thought  of 
the  meeting.  He  came  into  the  room ;  the  baroness  was 
alone.  She  greeted  him  kindly,  and  welcomed  him.  Rose 
came  in  soon  after  and  did  the  same.  But  no  Josephine. 
Camille  felt  sick  at  heart.  At  last  dinner  was  announced ; 
"She  will  surely  join  us  at  dinner,"  thought  he.  He 
cast  his  eyes  anxiously  on  the  table ;  the  napkins  were 
laid  for  four  only.      The  baroness  carelessly  explained 


WHITE   LIES.  181 

this  to  him  as  they  sat  down.  "Madame  Raynal  dines 
in  her  own  room.     I  am  sorry  to  say  she  is  indisposed," 

Camille  muttered  polite  regrets :  the  rage  of  disap- 
pointment drove  its  fangs  into  him,  and  then  came  the 
heart-sickness  of  hope  deferred.  The  next  day  he  saw 
her,  but  could  not  get  a  word  Avith  her  alone.  The 
baroness  tortured  him  another  way.  She  was  full  of 
Raynal.  She  loved  him.  She  called  him  her  son ;  was 
never  weary  of  descanting  on  his  virtues  to  Camille. 
Not  a  day  passed  that  she  did  not  pester  Camille  to 
make  a  calculation  as  to  the  probable  period  of  his  return, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  answer  her.  She  related  to  him 
before  Josephine  and  Rose,  how  this  honest  soldier  had 
come  to  them  like  a  guardian  angel  and  saved  the  whole 
famih".     In  vain  he  muttered  that  Rose  had  told  him. 

"  Let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  telling  it  you  my  way," 
cried  she,  and  told  it  diffusely,  and  kept  him  writhing. 

The  next  thing  Avas,  Josephine  had  received  no  letter 
from  him  this  month ;  the  first  month  he  had  missed. 
In  vain  did  Rose  represent  that  he  was  only  a  few  days 
over  his  time.  The  baroness  became  anxious,  communi- 
cated her  anxieties  to  Camille  among  the  rest ;  and,  by  a 
torturing  interrogatory,  compelled  him  to  explain  to  her 
before  Josephine  and  them  all,  that  ships  do  not  always 
sail  to  a  day,  and  are  sometimes  delayed.  But  oh !  he 
winced  at  the  man's  name ;  and  Rose  observed  that  he 
never  mentioned  it,  nor  acknowledged  the  existence  of 
such  a  person  as  Josephine's  husband,  except  when 
others  compelled  him.  Yet  they  were  acquainted  ;  and 
Rose  sometimes  wondered  that  he  did  not  detract  or 
sneer. 

"  I  should,"  said  she  ;  "  I  feel  I  should." 

"He  is  too  noble,"  said  Josephine,  "and  too  wise. 
For,  if  he  did,  I  should  respect  him  less,  and  my  husband 
more  than  I  do  —  if  possible." 


182  WHITE   LIES. 

Certainly  Camille  was  not  the  sort  of  nature  that 
detracts,  but  the  reason  he  avoided  Raynal's  name  was 
simply  that  his  whole  internal  battle  was  to  forget  such 
a  man  existed.  From  this  dream  he  was  rudely  awakened 
every  hour  since  he  joined  the  family,  and  the  wound  his 
self-deceiving  heart  would  fain  have  skinned  over,  was 
torn  open.  But  worse  than  this  was  the  torture  of  being 
tantalized.  He  was  in  company  with  Josephine,  but  never 
alone.  Even  if  she  left  the  room  for  an  instant,  Rose 
accompanied  her  and  returned  with  her.  Camille  at  last 
began  to  comprehend  that  Josephine  had  decided  there 
should  be  no  private  interviews  between  her  and  him. 
Thus,  not  only  the  shadow  of  the  absent  Raynal  stood 
between  them,  but  her  mother  and  sister  in  person,  and 
worst  of  all,  her  own  will.  He  called  her  a  cold-blooded 
fiend  in  his  rage.  Then  the  thought  of  all  her  tender- 
ness and  goodness  came  to  rebuke  him.  But  even  in 
rebuking  it  maddened  him.  "Yes,  it  is  her  very 
nature  to  love ;  but  since  she  can  make  her  heart  turn 
whichever  way  her  honor  bids,  she  will  love  her  hus- 
band ;  she  does  not  now  ;  but  sooner  or  later  she  will. 
Then  she  will  have  children  —  (he  writhed  with  anguish 
and  fury  at  this  thought)  — loving  ties  between  him  and 
her.  He  has  everything  on  his  side.  I,  nothing  but 
memories  she  will  efface  from  her  heart.  Will  efface  ? 
She  must  have  effaced  them,  or  she  could  not  have 
married  him."  I  know  no  more  pitiable  state  of  mind 
than  to  love  and  hate  the  same  creature.  But  when  the 
two  feelings  are  both  intense,  and  meet  in  an  ardent 
bosom,  such  a  man  would  do  well  to  spend  a  day  or  two 
upon  his  knees,  praying  for  grace  divine.  For  he  who 
with  all  his  soul  loves  and  hates  one  woman  is  next  door 
to  a  maniac,  and  is  scarcely  safe  an  hour  together  from 
suicide  or  even  from  homicide ;  this  truth  the  newspapers 
tell  us,  by  examples,  every  month ;  but  are  wonderfully 


WHITE   LIES.  183 

little  heeded,  because  newspapers  do  not,  nor  is  it  their 
business  to,  analyze  and  dwell  upon  the  internal  feelings 
of  the  despairing  lover,  whose  mad  and  bloody  act  they 
record.  With  such  a  tempest  in  his  heart  did  Camille 
one  day  wander  into  the  park.  And  soon  an  irresistible 
attraction  drew  him  to  the  side  of  the  stream  that  flowed 
along  one  side  of  it.  He  eyed  it  gloomily,  and  wherever 
the  stagnant  water  indicated  a  deeper  pool  than  usual  he 
stopped,  and  looked,  and  thought,  "  How  calm  and  peace- 
ful you  are  ! " 

He  sat  down  at  last  by  the  water-side,  his  eyes  bent  on 
a  calm,  green  pool. 

It  looked  very  peaceful ;  and  it  could  give  peace.  He 
thought,  oh  !  what  a  blessing  ;  to  be  quit  of  rage,  jeal- 
ousy, despair,  and  life,  all  in  a  minute  ! 

Yet  that  was  a  sordid  death  for  a  soldier  to  die,  who 
had  seen  great  battles.  Could  he  not  die  more  nobly 
than  that  ?  With  this  he  suddenly  felt  in  his  pocket ; 
and  there  sure  enough  fate  had  placed  his  pistols.  He 
had  put  them  into  this  coat ;  and  he  had  not  worn  this 
coat  until  to-day.  He  had  armed  himself  unconsciously. 
<'  Ah  !  "  said  he ;  "  it  is  to  be  ;  all  these  things  are  pre- 
ordained." (This  notion  of  fate  has  strengthened  many 
a  fatal  resolution.)  Then  he  had  a  cruel  regret.  To  die 
without  a  word  ;  a  parting  word.  Then  he  thought  to 
himself,  it  was  best  so  ;  for  perhaps  he  should  have  taken 
her  with  him. 

"  Sir !  colonel ! "  uttered  a  solemn  voice  behind  him. 

Absorbed  and  strung  up  to  desperation  as  he  was,  this 
voice  seemed  unnaturally  loud,  and  discordant  with 
Camille's  mood ;  a  sudden  trumpet  from  the  world  of 
small  things. 

It  was  Picard,  the  notary. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Madame  Eaynal  is  ?  " 

"No.     At  the  chateau,  I  suppose." 


184  "WHITE  LIES. 

"  She  is  not  there ;  I  inquired  of  the  servant.  She 
was  out.     You  have  not  seen  her,  colonel  ?  " 

"  Not  I ;  I  never  see  her." 

"  Then  perhaps  I  had  better  go  back  to  the  cliateau 
and  wait  for  her :  stay,  are  you  a  friend  of  the  family  ? 
Colonel,  suppose  I  were  to  tell  you,  and  ask  you  to 
break  it  to  Madame  Raynal,  or,  better  still,  to  the  baron- 
ess, or  Mademoiselle  Rose." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Camille  coldly,  "  charge  me  with  no 
messages,  for  I  cannot  deliver  them.  /  am  go'aig  another 
ivayT 

''  In  that  case,  I  will  go  to  the  chateau  once  more ;  for 
what  I  have  to  say  must  be  heard." 

Picard  returned  to  the  chateau  wondering  at  the 
colonel's  strange  manner. 

Camille,  for  his  part,  wondered  that  any  one  could  be 
so  mad  as  to  talk  to  him  about  trifles ;  to  him,  a  man 
standing  on  the  brink  of  eternity.  Poor  soul,  it  was  he 
who  was  mad  and  unlucky.  He  should  have  heard  what 
Picard  had  to  say.  The  very  gentleness  and  solemnity 
of  manner  ought  to  have  excited  his  curiosity. 

He  watched  Picard's  retiring  form.  When  he  was  out 
of  sight,  then  he  turned  round  and  resumed  his  thoughts 
as  if  Picard  had  been  no  more  than  a  fly  that  had  buzzed 
and  then  gone. 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  taken  her  with  me,"  he  said.  He 
sat  gloomy  and  dogged  like  a  dangerous  maniac  in  his 
cell ;  never  moved,  scarce  thought  for  more  than  half  an 
hour;  but  his  deadly  purpose  grew  in  him.  Suddenly 
he  started.  A  lady  was  at  the  style,  about  a  hundred 
yards  distant.     He  trembled.     It  was  Josephine. 

She  came  towards  him  slowly,  her  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground  in  a  deep  reverie.  She  stopped  about  a  stone's 
throw  from  him,  and  looked  at  the  river  long  and 
thoughtfully ;  then  casting  her  eye  around,  she  caught 


WHITE   LIES.  185 

sight  of  Camille.  He  watched  her  grimly.  He  saw  her 
give  a  little  start,  and  half  turn  round ;  but  if  this  was 
an  impulse  to  retreat,  it  was  instantl}^  suppressed ;  for 
the  next  moment  she  pursued  her  way. 

Camille  stood  gloomy  and  bitter,  awaiting  her  in  silence. 
He  planted  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  path,  and  said 
not  a  word. 

She  looked  him  all  over,  and  her  color  came  and  went. 

"  Out  so  far  as  this,"  she  said  kindly ;  "  and  without 
your  cap." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  discovered  that  he 
was  bareheaded. 

"  You  will  catch  your  death  of  cold.  Come,  let  us  go 
in  and  get  your  cap." 

She  made  as  if  she  would  pass  him.  He  planted  him- 
self right  before  her. 

"No." 

"Camille!" 

"  Why  do  you  shun  me  as  if  I  was  a  viper  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  shun  you.  I  but  avoid  conferences  that  can 
lead  to  no  good ;  it  is  my  duty." 

"  You  are  very  wise  ;  cold-hearted  people  can  be  wise." 

"  Am  I  cold-hearted,  Camille  ?  " 

"  As  marble." 

She  looked  him  in  the  face ;  the  water  came  into  her 
eyes ;  after  awhile  she  whispered,  sorrowfully,  "  Well, 
Camille,  I  am." 

"  But  with  all  your  wisdom  and  all  your  coldness,"  he 
went  on  to  say,  "you  have  made  a  mistake;  you  have 
driven  me  to  madness  and  despair." 

"  Heaven  forbid  ! "  said  she. 

"  Your  prayer  comes  too  late ;  you  have  done  it." 

"  Camille,  let  me  go  to  the  oratory,  and  pray  for  you. 
You  terrify  me." 

"It  is  no  use.     Heaven  has  no  mercy  for  me.     Take 


186  WHITE    LIES. 

my  advice  ;  stay  where  you  are  ;  don't  hurry  ;  for  what 
remains  of  your  life  you  gave  to  pass  with  me,  do  you 
understand  that  ?  " 

"  Ah ! "     And  she  turned  pale, 

"  Can  you  read  my  riddle  ?  " 

She  looked  him  in  the  face.  "  I  can  read  your  eyes, 
and  I  know  you  love  me.  I  think  you  mean  to  kill  me. 
I  have  heard  men  kill  the  thing  they  love." 

"  Of  course  they  do ;  sooner  than  another  should  have 
it,  they  kill  it  — they  kill  it." 

"  God  has  not  made  them  patient  like  us  women. 
Poor  Camille ! " 

"  Patience  dies  when  hope  dies.  Come,  Madame  Ray  nal, 
say  a  prayer,  for  you  are  going  to  die." 

"  God  bless  you,  Camille  !  "  said  the  poor  girl,  putting 
her  hands  together  in  her  last  prayer.  At  this  sweet 
touch  of  affection,  Camille  hung  his  head,  and  sobbed. 
Then  suddenly  lashing  himself  into  fury,  he  cried,  — 

"  You  are  my  betrothed  !  you  talk  of  duty ;  but  you 
forget  your  duty  to  me.  Are  you  not  my  betrothed  this 
four  years  ?     Answer  me  that." 

"  Yes,  Camille,  I  was." 

"  Did  I  not  suffer  death  a  hundred  times  for  you,  to 
keep  faith  with  you,  you  cold-blooded  traitress  with  an 
angel's  face  ?  " 

"Ah,  Camille  !  can  you  speak  so  bitterly  to  me  ?  Have 
I  denied  your  right  to  kill  me  ?  You  shall  never  dis- 
honor me,  but  you  shall  kill  me,  if  it  is  your  pleasure. 
I  do  not  resist.  Why,  then,  speak  to  me  like  that;  must 
the  last  words  I  hear  from  your  mouth  be  words  of  anger, 
cruel  Camille  ?  " 

"  I  was  wrong.  But  it  is  so  hard  to  kill  her  I  love  in 
cold  blood.  I  want  anger  as  well  as  despair  to  keep  me 
to  it.  Come,  turn  your  head  away  from  me,  and  all  our 
troubles  shall  end." 


WHITE   LIES.  187 

"No,  Camille,  let  me  look  at  you.  Then  you  will  be 
the  last  thing  I  shall  see  on  earth." 

At  this  he  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  with  a  fierce 
stamp  at  what  he  thought  was  weakness,  he  levelled  a 
pistol  at  her. 

She  put  up  her  hands  with  a  piteous  cry,  "  Oh !  not 
my  face,  Camille  !  pray  do  not  disfigure  my  face.  Here 
—  kill  me  here  —  in  my  bosom  —  my  heart  that  loved 
you  well,  when  it  was  no  sin  to  love  you." 

"I  can't  shoot  you.  I  can't  spill  your  blood.  The  river 
will  end  all,  and  not  disfigure  your  beauty,  that  has 
driven  me  mad,  and  cost  you,  poor  wretch,  your  life." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Camille.  The  water  does  not  frighten 
me  as  a  pistol  does ;  it  will  not  hurt  me ;  it  will  only  kill 
me." 

"  No,  it  is  but  a  plunge,  and  you  will  be  at  peace  for- 
ever; and  so  shall  I.  Come,  take  my  hand,  Madame 
Raynal,  Madame  Raynal." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  look  of  infinite  love. 
She  only  said,  "  My  poor  mother  ! "  That  word  did  not 
fall  to  the  ground.  It  flashed  like  lightning  at  night 
across  the  demented  lover,  and  lighted  up  his  egotism 
(suicide,  like  homicide,  is  generally  a  fit  of  maniacal 
egotism),  even  to  his  eyes  blinded  by  fury. 

"Wretch  that  I  am,"  he  shrieked.  "Fly,  Josephine, 
fly  !  escape  this  moment,  that  my  better  angel  whispers 
to  me.     Do  you  hear  ?  begone,  while  it  is  time." 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,  Camille." 

"  I  say  you  shall.  Go  to  your  mother  and  Rose ;  go 
to  those  you  love,  and  I  can  pity ;  go  to  the  chapel  and 
thank  Heaven  for  your  escape." 

"  Yes,  but  not  without  you,  Camille.  I  am  afraid  to 
leave  you." 

"  You  have  more  to  fear  if  you  stay.  Well,  I  can't 
wait  any  longer.  Stay,  then,  and  live ;  and  learn  from 
me  how  to  love  Jean  Raynal." 


188  WHITE   LIES. 

He  levelled  the  pistol  at  himself. 

Josephine  threw  herself  on  him  with  a  cry,  and  seized 
his  arm.  With  the  strength  excitement  lent  her  she  got 
the  better,  ^.nd  all  but  overpowered  him.  But,  as  usual, 
the  man's  strength  lasted  longer,  and  with  a  sustained 
effort  he  threw  her  off ;  then,  pale  and  panting,  raised 
the  pistol  to  take  his  life.  This  time  she  moved  neither 
hand  nor  foot ;  but  she  palsied  his  rash  hand  with  a  word. 

"No;    I  LOVE  YOU." 


WHITE   LIES.  189 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

There  lie  the  dead  corpses  of  those  words  on  paper; 
but  my  art  is  powerless  to  tell  you  how  they  were  uttered, 
those  words,  potent  as  a  king's,  for  they  saved  a  life. 

They  were  a  cry  of  terror  and  a  cry  of  reproach  and  a 
cry  of  love  unfathomable. 

The  weapon  shook  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  her  with 
growing  astonishment  and  joy ;  she  at  him  fixedly  and 
anxiously,  her  hands  clasped  in  supplication. 

"  As  you  used  to  love  me  ?  " 

''More,  far  more.  Give  me  the  pistol.  I  love  you, 
dearest.     I  love  you." 

At  these  delicious  words  he  lost  all  power  of  resist- 
ance, she  saw ;  and  her  soft  and  supple  hand  stole  in 
and  closed  upon  his,  and  gently  withdrew  the  weapon, 
and  threw  it  into  the  water.  "  Good  Camille  !  now  give 
me  the  other." 

"  How  do  you  know  there  is  another  ?  " 

"I  know  you  are  not  the  man  to  kill  a  woman  and 
spare  yourself.     Come." 

"Josephine,  have  pity  on  me,  do  not  deceive  me  ;  pray 
do  not  take  this,  my  only  friend,  from  me,  unless  you 
really  love  me." 

"  I  love  you ;  I  adore  you,"  was  her  reply. 

She  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  but  with  her 
hand  she  sought  his,  and  even  as  she  uttered  those  loving 
words  she  coaxed  the  weapon  from  his  now  unresisting 
grasp. 

"There,  it  is  gone;  you  are  saved  from  death  —  saved 
from  crime."     And  with  that,  the  danger  was  over,  she 


190  WHITE   LIES. 

trembled  for  the  first  time,  and  fell  to  sobbing  hysteri- 
cally. 

He  threw  himself  at  her  knees,  and  embraced  them 
again  and  again,  and  begged  her  forgiveness  in  a  trans- 
port of  remorse  and  self-reproach. 

She  looked  down  with  tender  pity  on  him,  and  heard 
his  cries  of  penitence  and  shame. 

"Rise,  Camille,  and  go  home  with  me,"  said  she 
faintly. 

"Yes,  Josephine." 

They  went  slowly  and  in  silence.  Camille  was  too 
ashamed  and  penitent  to  speak ;  too  full  of  terror  too  at 
the  abyss  of  crime  from  which  he  had  been  saved.  The 
ancients  feigned  that  a  virgin  could  subdue  a  lion ;  per- 
haps they  meant  that  a  pure  gentle  nature  can  subdue 
a  nature  fierce  but  generous.  Lion-like  Camille  walked 
by  Josephine's  side  with  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  the 
picture  of  humility  and  penitence. 

"  This  is  the  last  walk  you  and  I  shall  take  together," 
said  Josephine  solemnly, 

"  I  know  it,"  said  he  humbly.  "  I  have  forfeited  all 
right  to  be  by  your  side." 

"My  poor,  lost  love,"  sighed  Josephine,  "will  you 
never  understand  me  ?  You  never  stood  higher  in  my 
esteem  than  at  this  moment.  It  is  the  avowal  you  have 
forced  from  me  that  parts  us.  The  man  to  whom  I  have 
said  '  I '  —  must  not  remain  beneath  my  husband's  roof. 
Does  not  your  sense  of  honor  agree  with  mine  ?  " 

"  It  does,"  faltered  he. 

"  To-morrow  you  must  leave  the  chateau." 

"  I  will  obey  you." 

"  What,  you  do  not  resist,  you  do  not  break  my  heart 
by  complaints,  by  reproaches  ?  " 

"  No,  Josephine,  all  is  changed.  I  thought  you  unfeel- 
ing :  I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  happrj  with  him  ; 
that  was  what  maddened  me." 


WHITE   LIES.  191 

"I  pray  daily  you  may  be  happy,  no  matter  how. 
But  you  and  I  are  not  alike,  dear  as  we  are  to  one 
another.  Well,  do  not  fear:  I  shall  never  be  happy  — 
Avill  that  soothe  you,  Camille  ?  " 

''  Yes,  Josephine,  all  is  changed ;  the  words  you  have 
spoken  have  driven  the  fiends  out  of  my  heart.  I  have 
nothing  to  do  now  but  to  obey,  you  to  command :  it  is 
your  right.  Since  you  love  me  a  little  still,  dispose  of 
me.  Bid  me  live  :  bid  me  die  :  bid  me  stay :  bid  me  go. 
I  shall  never  disobey  the  angel  who  loves  me,  my  only 
friend  upon  the  earth." 

A  single  deep  sob  from  Josephine  was  all  the  answer. 

Then  he  could  not  help  asking  her  why  she  had  not 
trusted  him  ? 

"  Why  did  you  not  say  to  me  long  ago,  '  I  love  you, 
but  I  am  a  wife ;  my  liusband  is  an  honest  soldier, 
absent,  and  fighting  for  France  :  I  am  the  guardian  of 
his  honor  and  my  own  ;  be  just,  be  generous,  be  self- 
denying;  depart  and  love  me  only  as  angels  love'? 
Perhaps  this  might  have  helped  me  to  show  you  that  I 
too  am  a  man  of  honor." 

"  Perhaps  I  was  wrong,"  sighed  Josephine.  "  I  think 
I  should  have  trusted  more  to  you.  But  then,  who 
would  have  thought  you  could  really  doubt  my  love  ? 
You  were  ill ;  I  could  not  bear  you  to  go  till  you  were 
well,  quite  well.  I  saw  no  other  way  to  keep  you  but 
this,  to  treat  you  with  feigned  coldness.  You  saw  the 
coldness,  but  not  what  it  cost  me  to  maintain  it.  Yes, 
I  was  unjust ;  and  inconsiderate,  for  I  had  many  furtive 
joys  to  sustain  me  :  I  had  you  in  my  house  under  my 
care  —  that  thought  was  always  sweet  —  I  had  a  hand 
in  everything  that  was  for  your  good,  for  your  comfort. 
I  helped  Jacintha  make  your  soup  and  your  chocolate 
every  day.  I  had  the  delight  of  lining  the  dressing- 
gown  you  were  to  wear.     I  had  always  some  little  thing 


192  WHITE    LIES. 

or  otlier  to  do  for  you.  These  kept  me  up :  I  forgot  in 
my  selfishness  that  you  had  none  of  tliese  supports,  and 
that  I  was  driving  you  to  despair.  I  am  a  foolish,  disin- 
genuous woman :  I  have  been  very  culpable.  Forgive 
me!" 

"Forgive  you,  angel  of  purity  and  goodness  ?  I  alone 
am  to  blame.  What  right  had  I  to  doubt  your  heart  ? 
I  knew  the  whole  story  of  your  marriage ;  I  saw  your 
sweet  pale  face ;  but  I  was  not  pure  enough  to  compre- 
hend angelic  virtue  and  unselfishness.  Well,  I  am 
brought  to  my  senses.  There  is  but  one  thing  for  me 
to  do  —  you  bade  me  leave  you  to-morrow." 

"  I  was  very  cruel." 

"No!  not  cruel,  wise.  But  I  will  be  wiser.  I  shall 
go  to-night." 

"To-night,  Camille  ?  "  said  Josephine,  turning  pale. 

"  Ay  !  for  to-night  I  am  strong ;  to-morrow  I  may  be 
weak.  To-night  everything  thrusts  me  on  the  right 
path.  To-morrow  everything  will  draw  me  from  it.  Do 
not  cry,  beloved  one  ;  you  and  I  have  a  hard  fight.  We 
must  be  true  allies ;  whenever  one  is  weak,  then  is  the 
time  for  the  other  to  be  strong.  I  have  been  weaker 
than  you,  to  my  shame  be  it  said ;  but  this  is  my  hour 
of  strength.  A  light  from  heaven  shows  me  my  path. 
I  am  full  of  passion,  but  like  you  I  have  honor.  You 
are  Raynal's  wife,  and  —  Raynal  saved  my  life." 

"  Ah  !  is  it  possible  ?  When  ?  where  ?  may  Heaven 
bless  him  for  it ! " 

"  Ask  him  ;  and  say  I  told  you  of  it  —  I  have  not 
strength  to  tell  it  you,  but  I  will  go  to-night." 

Then  Josephine,  who  had  resisted  till  all  her  strength 
was  gone,  whispered  with  a  blush  that  it  was  too  late  to 
get  a  conveyance. 

"  I  need  none  to  carry  my  sAvord,  my  epaulets,  and 
my  love  for  you.     I  shall  go  on  foot." 


WHITE   LIES.  193 

Josephine  said  nothing,  but  she  began  to  walk  slower 
and  slower.  And  so  the  unfortunate  pair  came  along 
creeping  slowly  with  drooping  heads  towards  the  gate  of 
the  Pleasaunce.  There  their  last  walk  in  this  world 
must  end.  Many  a  man  and  woman  have  gone  to  the 
scaffold  with  hearts  less  heavy  and  more  hopeful  than 
theirs. 

"  Dry  your  eyes,  Josephine,"  said  Camille  with  a  deep 
sigh.     "  They  are  all  out  on  the  Pleasaunce." 

"  Xo,  I  will  not  dry  my  eyes,"  cried  Josephine,  almost 
violently.     "  I  care  for  nothing  now." 

The  baroness,  the  doctor,  and  Kose,  were  all  in  the 
Pleasaunce :  and  as  the  pair  came  in,  lo !  every  eye  was 
bent  on  Josephine. 

She  felt  this,  and  her  eyes  sought  the  ground :  be- 
numbed as  she  was  with  despondency,  she  began  now  to 
dread  some  fresh  stroke  or  other. 

Camille  felt  doubly  guilty  and  confused.  How  they 
all  look  at  us,  he  thought.  Do  they  know  what  a  villain 
I  have  been  ?  He  determined  to  slip  away,  and  pack 
up,  and  begone.  However,  nobody  took  any  notice  of 
him.  The  baroness  drew  Josephine  apart.  And  Rose 
followed  her  mother  and  sister  with  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground. 

There  was  a  strange  solemnity  about  them  all. 

Aubertin  remained  behind.  But  even  he  took  no 
notice  of  Camille,  but  walked  up  and  down  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  and  a  sad  and  troubled  face.  Camille 
felt  his  utter  desolation.  He  was  nothing  to  any  of 
them.  He  resolved  to  go  at  once,  and  charge  Aubertin 
with  his  last  adieus  to  the  family.  It  was  a  wise  and 
manly  resolve.  He  stopped  Aubertin  in  the  middle  of 
his  walk,  and  said  in  a  faint  voice  of  the  deepest  dejec- 
tion, — 

"  Doctor,  the  time  is  come  that  I  must  once   more 


194  WHITE   LIES. 

thank  you  for  all  your  goodness  to  me,  and  bid  you  all 
farewell." 

"  What,  going  before  your  strength  is  re-established  ?  " 
said  the  doctor  politely,  but  not  warmly. 

"I  am  out  of  all  danger,  thanks  to  your  skill." 

"Colonel,  at  another  time  I  should  insist  upon  your 
staying  a  day  or  two  longer ;  but  now  I  think  it  would 
be  unadvisable  to  press  you  to  stay.  Ah,  colonel,  you 
came  to  a  happy  house,  but  you  leave  a  sad  one.  Poor 
Madame  Raynal ! " 

"  Sir !  " 

"  You  saw  the  baroness  draw  her  aside." 

"  Y-yes." 

"By  this  time  she  knows  it." 

"  In  Heaven's  name  what  do  you  mean  ? "  asked 
Camille. 

"I  forgot;  you  are  not  aware  of  the  calamity  that  has 
fallen  upon  our  beloved  Josephine ;  on  the  darling  of 
the  house." 

Camille  turned  cold  with  vague  apprehension.  But  he 
contrived  to  stammer  out,  "  No  ;  tell  me  !  for  Heaven's 
sake  tell  me." 

The  doctor  thus  pressed  revealed  all  in  a  very  few 
words.  "  My  poor  friend,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  her  hus- 
band —  is  dead." 


WHITE   LIES.  195 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  baroness,  as  I  have  said,  drew  Josephine  aside, 
and  tried  to  break  to  her  the  sad  news  :  but  her  own  grief 
overcame  her,  and  bursting  into  tears  she  bewailed  the 
loss  of  her  son.  Josephine  was  greatly  shocked.  Death  ! 
—  Raynal  dead  —  her  true,  kind  friend  dead  —  her  bene- 
factor dead.  She  clung  to  her  mother's  neck,  and  sobbed 
Avith  her.  Presently  she  withdrew  her  face  and  suddenly 
hid  it  in  both  her  hands. 

She  rose  and  kissed  her  mother  once  more  :  and  went 
to  her  own  room :  and  then,  though  there  was  none  to 
see  her,  she  hid  her  wet,  but  burning,  cheeks  in  her 
hands. 

Josephine  confined  herself  for  some  days  to  her  own 
room,  leaving  it  only  to  go  to  the  chapel  in  the  park, 
Avhere  she  spent  hours  in  prayers  for  the  dead  and  in 
self-humiliation.  Her  ''tender  conscience"  accused  her- 
self bitterly  for  not  having  loved  this  gallant  spirit  more 
than  she  had. 

Camille  realized  nothing  at  first;  he  looked  all  con- 
fused in  the  doctor's  face,  and  was  silent.  Then  after 
awhile  he  said,  "  Dead  ?     Raynal  dead  ?  " 

"  Killed  in  action." 

A  red  flush  came  to  Camille's  face,  and  his  eyes  went 
down  to  the  ground  at  his  very  feet,  nor  did  he  once  raise 
them  while  the  doctor  told  him  how  the  sad  news  had 
come.  "Picard  the  notary  brought  us  the  MoniteAir,  and 
there  was  Commandant  Raynal  among  the  killed  in  a 
cavalry  skirmish."  With  this,  he  took  the  journal  from 
his  pocket,  and  Camille  read  it,  with  awe-struck,  and 


196  WHITE  LIES. 

other  feelings  he  would  have  been  sorry  to  see  analyzed. 
He  said  not  a  word ;  and  lowered  his  eyes  to  the  ground. 

''And  now,"  said  Aubertin,  "you  will  excuse  me.  I 
must  go  to  my  poor  friend  the  baroness.  She  had  a 
mother's  love  for  him  who  is  no  more  :  well  she  might." 

Aubertin  went  away,  and  left  Dujardin  standing  there 
like  a  statue,  his  eyes  still  glued  to  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

The  doctor  was  no  sooner  out  of  sight,  than  Camille 
raised  his  eyes  furtively,  like  a  guilty  person,  and  looked 
irresolutely  this  way  and  that :  at  last  he  turned  and 
went  back  to  the  place  where  he  had  meditated  suicide 
and  murder ;  looked  down  at  it  a  long  while,  then  looked 
up  to  heaven  —  then  fell  suddenly  on  his  knees :  and  so 
remained  till  night-fall.  Then  he  came  back  to  the 
chateau. 

He  whispered  to  himself,  "  And  I  am  afraid  it  is  too 
late  to  go  away  to-night."  He  went  softly  into  the  saloon. 
Nobody  was  there  but  Eose  and  Aubertin.  At  sight  of 
him  Rose  got  up  and  left  the  room.  But  I  suppose  she 
went  to  Josephine ;  for  she  returned  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  some  supper  to  be  brought 
up  for  Cclonel  Dujardin. 

"  You  have  U'  t  dined,  I  hear,"  said  she,  very  coldly. 

"  I  was  afraid  "ou  wtre  gone  altogether,"  said  the  doc- 
tor :  then  turning  to  Pose,  "  He  told  me  he  was  going 
this  evening.  You  had  better  stay  quiet  another  day  or 
two,"  added  he,  kindly. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Camille,  timidly. 

He  stayed  upon  these  terms.  And  now  he  began  to 
examine  himself.  "  Did  I  wish  him  dead  ?  I  hope  I 
never  formed  such  a  thought !  I  don't  remember  ever 
wishing  him  dead."  And  he  went  twice  a  day  to  that 
place  by  the  stream,  and  thought  very  solemnly  what  a 
terrible  thing  ungoverned  passion  is;  and  repented  — 
not  eloquently,  but  silently,  sincerely. 


WHITE   LIES.  197 

But  soon  his  impatient  spirit  began  to  torment  itself 
again.  Wiiy  did  Josephine  shun  him  now  ?  Ah !  she 
loved  Eaynal  now  that  he  was  dead.  "Women  love  the 
thing  they  have  lost ;  so  he  had  heard  say.  In  that  case, 
the  very  sight  of  him  would  of  course  be  odious  to  her : 
he  could  understand  that.  The  absolute,  unreasoning 
faith  he  once  had  in  her  had  been  so  rudely  shaken  by 
her  marriage  with  Eaynal,  that  now  he  could  only  believe 
just  so  much  as  he  saw,  and  he  saw  that  she  shunned  him. 

He  became  moody,  sad,  and  disconsolate :  and  as  Joseph- 
ine shunned  him,  so  he  avoided  all  the  others,  and 
wandered  for  hours  by  himself,  perplexed  and  miserable. 
After  awhile,  he  became  consciouo  that  he  was  under  a 
sort  of  surveillance.  Rose  de  Beaurepaire,  who  had  been 
so  kind  to  him  when  he  was  confined  to  his  own  room, 
but  had  taken  little  notice  of  him  since  he  came  down, 
now  resumed  her  care  of  him,  and  evidently  made  it  her 
business  to  keep  up  his  heart.  She  used  to  meet  him 
out  walking  in  a  mysterious  way,  and  in  short,  be  always 
falling  in  with  him  and  trying  to  cheer  him  up :  with 
tolerable  success. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  the  party  was 
swelled  and  matters  complicated  by  the  arrival  of  one 
we  have  lost  sight  of. 

Edouard  Riviere  retarded  his  cure  by  an  impatient 
spirit :  but  he  got  well  at  last,  and  his  uncle  drove  him 
in  the  cabriolet  to  his  own  quarters.  The  news  of  the 
house  had  been  told  him  by  letter,  but,  of  course,  in  so 
vague  and  general  a  way  that,  thinking  he  knew  all,  in 
reality  he  knew  nothing. 

Josephine  had  married  Raynal.  The  marriage  was 
sudden,  but  no  doubt  there  was  an  attachment :  he  had 
some  reason  to  believe  in  sudden  attachments.  Colonel 
Dujardin,  an  old  acquaintance,  liad  come  back  to  France 
wounded,  and  the  good  doctor  had  undertaken  his  cure ; 


198  WHITE   LIES. 

tliis  incident  appeared  neither  strange  nor  any  way  im- 
portant. What  affected  him  most  deejjly  was  the  death 
of  Raynal,  his  personal  friend  and  patron.  But  when 
his  tyrants,  as  he  called  the  surgeon  and  his  uncle,  gave 
him  leave  to  go  home,  all  feelings  were  overpowered  by 
liis  great  joy  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  Rose.  He  walked 
over  to  Beaurepaire,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  his  heart  beating. 
He  was  coming  to  receive  the  reward  of  all  he  had  done, 
and  all  he  had  attempted.  "  I  will  surprise  them," 
thought  he.  "  I  will  see  her  face  when  I  come  in  at  the 
door :  oh,  happy  hour  !  this  pays  for  all."  He  entered 
the  house  without  announcing  himself ;  he  went  softly 
up  to  the  saloon ;  t  his  great  disappointment  he  found 
no  one  but  the  baroness  -  she  received  him  kindly,  but 
not  with  the  warmth  he  expected.  She  was  absorbed  in 
her  new  grief.  He  asked  timidly  after  her  daughters. 
"  Madame  Raynal  bears  up,  for  the  sake  of  others.  You 
will  not,  however,  see  her :  she  keeps  her  room.  My 
daughter  Rose  is  taking  a  walk,  I  believe."  After  some 
polite  inquiries,  and  sympathy  with  his  accident,  the 
baroness  retired  to  indulge  her  grief,  and  Edouard  thus 
liberated  ran  in  search  of  his  beloved. 

He  met  her  at  the  gate  of  the  Pleasaunce,  but  not  alone. 
She  was  walking  with  an  officer,  a  handsome,  command- 
ing, haughty,  brilliant  officer.  She  was  walking  by  his 
side,  talking  earnestly  to  him. 

An  arrow  of  ice  shot  through  young  Riviere  ;  and  then 
came  a  feeling  of  death  at  his  heart,  a  new  symptom 
in  his  young  life. 

The  next  moment  Rose  caught  sight  of  him.  She 
flushed  all  over  and  uttered  a  little  exclamation,  and  she 
bounded  towards  him  like  a  little  antelope,  and  put  out 
both  her  hands  at  once.     He  could  only  give  her  one. 

"Ah  !"  she  cried  with  an  accent  of  heavenly  pity,  and 
took  his  hand  with  both  hers. 


WHITE   LIES.  199 

This  was  like  the  meridian  sun  coming  suddenly  on  a 
cold  place.     He  was  all  happiness. 

When  Josephine  heard  he  was  come  her  eye  flashed, 
and  she  said  quickly,  "  I  will  come  down  to  welcome  him 
—  dear  Edouard  I " 

The  sisters  looked  at  one  another.  Josephine  blushed. 
Kose  smiled  and  kissed  her.  She  colored  higher  still, 
and  said,  "  No,  she  was  ashamed  to  go  down." 

"Why?" 

"  Look  at  my  face." 

"  I  see  nothing  wrong  with  it,  except  that  it  eclipses 
other  people's,  and  I  have  long  forgiven  you  that." 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  Rose  :  look  what  a  color  it  has,  and  a 
fortnight  ago  it  was  pale  as  ashes." 

"  Never  mind  ;  do  you  expect  me  to  regret  that  ?  " 

"  Rose,  I  am  a  very  bad  woman." 

"  Are  you,  dear  ?  then  hook  this  for  me." 

"  Yes,  love.  But  I  sometimes  think  you  would  forgive 
me  if  you  knew  how  hard  I  pray  to  be  better.  Rose,  I 
do  try  so  to  be  as  unhappy  as  I  ought ;  but  I  can't,  I 
can't.  My  cold  heart  seems  as  dead  to  unhappiness  as 
once  it  was  to  happiness.  Am  I  a  heartless  woman  after 
all?" 

"  Not  altogether,"  said  Rose  dryly.  "  Fasten  my 
collar,  dear,  and  don't  torment  yourself.  You  have  suf- 
fered much  and  nobly.  It  was  Heaven's  will :  you 
bowed  to  it.  It  was  not  Heaven's  will  that  you  should 
be  blighted  altogether.  Bow  in  this,  too,  to  Heaven's 
will :  take  things  as  they  come,  and  do  cease  to  try  and 
reconcile  feelings  that  are  too  opposite  to  live  together." 

"  All  !  these  are  such  comfortable  words,  Rose  ;  but 
mamma  will  see  this  dreadful  color  in  my  cheek,  and 
what  can  I  say  to  her  ?  " 

"  Ten  to  one  it  will  not  be  observed ;  and  if  it  should, 
I  will  say  it  is  the  excitement  of  seeing  Edouard.  Leave 
all  to  me." 


200  WHITE    LIES. 

Josephine  greeted  Edouard  most  affectionately,  drew 
from  him  his  whole  history,  and  petted  him  and  sympa- 
thized with  him  deliciously,  and  made  him  the  hero  of 
the  evening.  Camille,  who  was  not  naturally  of  a  jeal- 
ous temper,  bore  this  very  well  at  first,  but  at  last  he 
looked  so  bitter  at  her  neglect  of  him,  that  Rose  took 
him  aside  to  soothe  him.  Edouard,  missing  the  auditor 
he  most  valued,  and  seeing  her  in  secret  conference  with 
the  brilliant  colonel,  felt  a  return  of  the  jealous  pangs 
that  had  seized  him  at  first  sight  of  the  man ;  and  so 
they  played  at  cross  purposes. 

At  another  period  of  the  evening  the  conversation 
became  more  general ;  and  Edouard  took  a  dislike  to 
Colonel  Dujardin.  A  young  man  of  twenty-eight  nearly 
always  looks  on  a  boy  of  twenty-one  with  the  air  of  a 
superior,  and  this  assumption,  not  being  an  ill-natured 
one,  is  apt  to  be  so  easy  and  so  undefined  that  the 
younger  hardly  knows  how  to  resent  or  to  resist  it.  But 
Edouard  was  a  little  vain  as  we  know ;  and  the  Colonel 
jarred  him  terribly.  His  quick  haughty  eye  jarred  him. 
His  regimentals  jarred  him :  they  fitted  like  a  glove. 
His  mustache  and  his  manner  jarred  him,  and,  worst  of 
all,  his  cool  familiarity  with  Rose,  who  seemed  to  court 
him  rather  than  be  courted  by  him.  He  put  this  act  of 
Rose's  to  the  colonel's  account,  according  to  the  custom 
of  lovers,  and  revenged  himself  in  a  small  way  by  tell- 
ing Josephine  in  her  ear  "  that  the  colonel  produced  on 
his  mind  the  effect  of  an  intolerable  puppy." 

Josephine  colored  up  and  looked  at  him  with  a  moment- 
ary surprise.  She  said  quietly,  "  Military  men  do  give 
themselves  some  airs,  but  he  is  very  amiable  at  bottom. 
You  must  make  a  better  acquaintance  with  him,  and 
then  he  will  reveal  to  you  his  nobler  qualities."  —  "  Oh ! 
I  have  no  particular  desire,"  sneered  unlucky  Edouard. 
Sweet  as  Josephine  was,  this  was  too  much  for  her :  she 


WHITE   LIES.  201 

said  nothing ;  but  she  quietly  turned  Edouard  over  to 
Aubertin,  and  joined  Rose,  and  under  cover  of  her  had 
a  sweet  timid  chat  with  her  falsely  accused. 

This  occupied  the  two  so  entirely  that  Edouard  was 
neglected.  This  hurt  his  foible,  and  seemed  to  be  so  un- 
kind on  the  very  first  day  of  his  return  that  he  made  his 
adieus  to  the  baroness,  and  marched  off  in  dudgeon 
unobserved. 

Rose  missed  him  first,  but  said  nothing. 

When  Josephine  saw  he  was  gone,  she  uttered  a  little 
exclamation,  and  looked  at  Rose.  Rose  put  on  a  mien 
of  haughty  indifference,  but  the  water  was  in  her  eyes. 

Josephine  looked  sorrowful. 

When  they  talked  over  everything  together  at  night, 
she  reproached  herself.  "  We  behaved  ill  to  poor  Edou- 
ard :  we  neglected  him." 

"  He  is  a  little  cross,  ill-tempered  fellow,"  said  Rose 
pettishly. 

"  Oh,  no !  no  !  " 

'•'  And  as  vain  as  a  peacock." 

"  Has  he  not  some  right  to  be  vain  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  no.  I  am  very  angi*y  with  him.  I  won't 
hear  a  word  in  his  favor,"  said  Rose  pouting :  then  she 
gave  his  defender  a  kiss.  "  Yes,  dear,"  said  Josephine, 
answering  the  kiss,  and  ignoring  the  words,  "he  is  a 
dear ;  and  he  is  not  cross,  nor  so  very  vain,  poor  boy ! 
now  don't  you  see  what  it  was  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  you  little  cunning  thing :  you  are  too 
shrewd  not  to  see  everything." 

"No,  indeed,  Josephine;  do  tell  me,  don't  keep  me 
waiting  :  I  can't  bear  that." 

"  Well,  then  —  jealous  !     A  little." 

"  Jealous  ?  Oh,  what  fun  !  Of  Camille  ?  Ha  !  ha  1 
Little  sroose  ! " 


202  WHITE   LIES. 

"  And,"  said  Jose[)liine  very  seriously,  "I  almost  think 
lie  would  be  jealous  of  any  one  that  occupied  your  atten- 
tion.    I  watched  him  more  or  less  all  the  evening." 

"  All  the  better.     I'll  torment  my  lord." 

"  Heaven  forbid  you  should  be  so  cruel." 

"  Oh  !  I  will  not  make  him  unhappy,  but  I'll  tease  him 
a  little  ;  it  is  not  in  nature  to  abstain." 

This  foible  detected  in  her  lover,  Kose  was  very  gay 
at  the  prospect  of  amusement  it  afforded  her. 

And  I  think  I  have  many  readers  who  at  this  moment 
are  awaiting  unmixed  enjoyment  and  hilarity  from  the 
same  source. 

I  wish  them  joy  of  their  prospect. 

Edouard  called  the  next  day :  he  wore  a  gloomy  air. 
Rose  met  this  with  a  particularly  cheerful  one  ;  on  this, 
Edouard's  face  cleared  up,  and  he  was  himself  again; 
agreeable  as  this  was,  Rose  felt  a  little  disappointed. 
"  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  very  jealous  after  all,"  thought 
she. 

Josephine  left  her  room  this  day  and  mingled  once 
more  with  the  family.  The  bare  sight  of  her  was 
enough  for  Camille  at  first,  but  after  awhile  he  wanted 
more.  He  wanted  to  be  often  alone  with  her;  but  sev- 
eral causes  co-operated  to  make  her  shy  of  giving  him 
many  such  opportunities :  first,  her  natural  delicacy, 
coupled  with  her  habit  of  self-denial ;  then  her  fear  of 
shocking  her  mother,  and  lastly  her  fear  of  her  own 
heart,  and  of  Camille,  whose  power  over  her  she  knew. 
For  Camille,  when  he  did  get  a  sweet  word  alone  with 
her,  seemed  to  forget  everything  except  that  she  was  his 
betrothed,  and  that  he  had  come  back  alive  to  marry 
her.  He  spoke  to  her  of  his  love  with  an  ardor  and  an 
urgency  that  made  her  thrill  with  happiness,  but  at  the 
same  time  shrink  with  a  certain  fear  and  self-reproach. 
Possessed   with   a   feeling   no   stronger  than  hers,  but 


WHITE   LIES.  203 

single,  he  did  not  compreliend  the  tumult,  the  trouble, 
the  daily  contest  in  her  heart.  The  wind  seemed  to 
him  to  be  always  changing,  and  hot  and  cold  the  same 
hour.  Since  he  did  not  even  see  that  she  was  acting  in 
hourly  fear  of  her  mother's  eye,  he  was  little  likely  to 
penetrate  her  more  hidden  sentiments  ;  and  then  he  had 
not  touched  her  key-note,  —  self-denial. 

Women  are  self-denying  and  uncandid.  Men  are 
self-indulgent  and  outspoken. 

And  this  is  the  key  to  a  thousand  double  misunder- 
standings  ;  for  believe  me,  good  women  are  just  as  stupid 
in  misunderstanding  men  as  honest  men  are  in  misun- 
derstanding women. 

To  Camille,  Josephine's  fluctuations,  joys,  tremors, 
love,  terror,  modesty,  seemed  one  grand  total,  caprice. 
The  component  parts  of  it  he  saw  not ;  and  her  caprice 
tortured  him  almost  to  madness.  Too  penitent  to  give 
way  again  to  violent  passion,  he  gently  fretted.  His 
health  retrograded  and  his  temper  began  to  sour.  The 
eye  of  timid  love  that  watched  him  with  maternal  anx- 
iety from  under  its  long  lashes  saw  this  with  dismay, 
and  Rose,  who  looked  into  her  sister's  bosom,  devoted 
herself  once  more  to  soothe  him  without  compromising 
Josephine's  delicac}'.  Matters  were  not  so  bad  but  what 
a  fine  sprightly  girl  like  Eose  could  cheer  up  a  dejected 
but  manly  colonel ;  and  Rose  was  generally  successful. 

But  then,  unfortunately,  this  led  to  a  fresh  mystifi- 
cation. Riviere's  natural  jealousy  revived,  and  found 
constant  food  in  the  attention  Rose  paid  Camille,  a 
brilliant  colonel  living  in  the  house  while  he,  poor 
Avretch,  lived  in  lodgings.  The  false  position  of  all  the 
parties  brought  about  some  singular  turns.  I  give  from 
their  number  one  that  forms  a  link,  though  a  small  one, 
in  my  narrative. 

One  day  Edouard  came  to  tell  Rose  she  was  making 


204  WHITE   LIES. 

him  unhappy ;  he  had  her  alone  in  tlie  Pleasaunce ;  she 
received  him  with  a  radiant  smile,  and  they  had  a  charm- 
ing talk,  —  a  talk  all  about  him:  what  the  family  owed 
him,  etc. 

On  this,  his  late  jealousy  and  sense  of  injury  seemed 
a  thing  of  three  years  ago,  and  never  to  return.  So  hard 
it  is  for  the  loving  heart  to  resist  its  sun. 

Jaciutha  came  with  a  message  from  the  colonel  : 
"  Would  it  be  agreeable  to  Mademoiselle  Rose  to  walk 
with  him  at  the  usual  hour  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Rose. 

As  Jacintha  was  retiring  Edouard  called  to  her  to  stop 
a  minute. 

Then,  turning  to  Rose,  he  begged  her  very  cere- 
moniously to  reconsider  that  determination. 

"  What  determination  ?  " 

"  To  sacrifice  me  to  this  Colonel  Dujardin."  Still 
politely,  only  a  little  grimly. 

Rose  opened  her  eyes.  "  Are  you  mad  ?  "  inquired 
she  with  quiet  haiite^ir. 

"  Neither  mad  nor  a  fool,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  love  you 
too  well  to  share  your  regard  with  any  one,  upon  any 
terms ;  least  of  all  upon  these,  that  there  is  to  be  a  man 
in  the  world  at  whose  beck  and  call  you  are  to  be,  and  at 
whose  orders  you  are  to  break  off  an  interview  with  me. 
Perdition  ! " 

"  Dear  Edouard,  what  folly  !  Can  you  suspect  me  of 
discourtesy,  as  well  as  of  —  I  know  not  what.  Colonel 
Dujardin  will  join  us,  that  is  all,  and  we  shall  take  a 
little  walk  with  him." 

"Not  I.  I  decline  the  intrusion;  you  are  engaged 
with  me,  and  I  have  things  to  say  to  you  that  are  not  fit 
for  that  puppy  to  hear.  So  choose  between  me  and  him, 
and  choose  forever." 

Rose  colored.      "  I   should   be  very  sorry  to   choose 


WHITE   LIES.  205 

either  of  you  forever ;  but  for  this  afternoon  I  choose 
you." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  —  my  whole  life  shall  prove  my  grati- 
tude for  this  preference." 

Rose  beckoned  Jacintha,  and  sent  her  with  an  excuse 
to  Colonel  Dujardin.  She  then  turned  with  an  air  of 
mock  submission  to  Edouard.  "  I  am  at  monsieur's 
orders^ 

Then  this  unhappy  novice,  being  naturally  good- 
natured,  thanked  her  again  and  again  for  her  condescen- 
sion in  setting  his  heart  at  rest.  He  proposed  a  walk, 
since  his  interference  had  lost  her  one.  She  yielded  a 
cold  assent.  This  vexed  him,  but  he  took  it  for  gi'anted 
it  would  wear  off  before  the  end  of  the  walk.  Edouard's 
heart  bounded,  but  he  loved  her  too  sincerely  to  be 
happy  unless  he  could  see  her  happy  too  ;  the  malicious 
thing  saw  this,  or  perhaps  knew  it  by  instinct,  and  by 
means  of  this  good  feeling  of  his  she  revenged  herself 
for  his  tyranny.  She  tortured  him  as  only  a  woman  can 
torture,  and  as  even  she  can  torture  only  a  worthy  man, 
and  one  who  loves  her.  In  the  course  of  that  short  walk 
this  inexperienced  girl,  strong  in  the  instincts  and 
inborn  arts  of  her  sex,  drove  pins  and  needles,  needles 
and  pins,  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  through  her  lover's  heart. 

She  was  everything  by  turns,  except  kind,  and  nothing 
for  long  together.  She  was  peevish,  she  was  ostenta- 
tiously patient  and  submissive,  she  was  inattentive  to 
her  companion  and  seemingly  wrapped  up  in  contempla- 
tion of  absent  things  and  persons,  the  colonel  to  wit ; 
she  was  dogged,  repulsive,  and  cold ;  and  she  never  was 
herself  a  single  moment.  They  returned  to  the  gate  of 
the  Pleasaunce.  "  Well,  mademoiselle,"  said  Riviere 
very  sadly,  "that  interloper  might  as  well  have  been 
with  us." 

"Of  course  he  might,  and  you  would  have  lost  nothing 


206  WHITE   LIES. 

by  permitting  me  to  be  courteous  to  a  guest  and  an 
invalid.  If  you  had  not  played  the  tyrant,  and  taken 
the  matter  into  your  own  hands,  I  should  have  found 
means  to  soothe  your  jeal —  I  mean  your  vanity  ;  but 
you  preferred  to  have  your  own  way.  Well,  you  have 
had  it." 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  you  have  given  me  a  lesson ;  you 
have  shown  me  how  idle  it  is  to  attempt  to  force  a  young 
lady's  inclinations  in  anything." 

He  bade  her  good-day,  and  went  away  sorrowful. 

She  cut  Camille  dead  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Next  morning,  early,  Edouard  called  expressly  to  see 
her.  ''  Mademoiselle  Rose,"  said  he,  humbly,  "  I  called 
to  apologize  for  the  ungentlemanly  tone  of  my  remon- 
strances yesterday." 

''  Fiddle-dee,"  said  Rose.  "  Don't  do  it  again  ;  that  is 
the  best  apology." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  offend  so  again,"  said  he  sadly.  "  I 
am  going  away.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  am  promoted ;  my 
new  post  is  ten  leagues.  He  will  have  it  all  his  ouui  ^cay 
now.  But  perhaps  it  is  best.  Were  I  to  stay  here,  I 
foresee  you  would  soon  lose  whatever  friendly  feeling 
you  have  for  me," 

"  Am  I  so  changeable  ?  I  am  not  considered  so," 
remonstrated  Rose,  gently. 

Riviere  explained ;  "  I.  am  not  vain,"  said  he,  with 
that  self-knowledge  which  is  so  general  an  attribute  of 
human  beings ;  "  no  man  less  so,  nor  am  I  jealous  ;  but 
I  respect  myself,  and  I  could  never  be  content  to  share 
your  time  and  your  regard  with  Colonel  Dujardin,  nor 
with  a  much  better  man.  See  now ;  he  has  made  me 
arrogant.     Was  I  ever  so  before  ?  " 

•'  No !  no !  no !  and  I  forgive  you  now,  my  poor 
Edouard." 

"  He  has  made  you  cold  as  ice  to  me." 


WHITE   LIES.  207 

"No!  that  was  my  own  wickedness  and  spitefulness." 

"  Wickedness,  spitefulness !  they  are  not  in  your 
nature.     It  is  all  that  wretch's  doing." 

Rose  sighed,  but  she  said  nothing ;  for  she  saw  that 
to  excuse  Camilla  would  only  make  the  jealous  one  more 
bitter  against  him. 

"  Will  you  deign  to  write  to  me  at  my  new  post  ?  once 
a  month  ?  in  answer  to  ray  letters  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  But  you  will  ride  over  sometimes  to  see 
us." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  for  some  little  time  I  shall  not  be  able. 
The  duties  of  a  new  post." 

"  Perhaps  in  a  month  —  a  fortnight  ?  " 

"  Sooner  perhaps  ;  the  moment  I  hear  that  man  is  out 
of  the  house." 

Edouard  went  away,  dogged  and  sad  ;  Rose  shut  her- 
self up  in  her  room  and  had  a  good  cry.  In  the  after- 
noon Josephine  came  and  remonstrated  with  her.  "  You 
have  not  walked  with  him  at  all  to-day." 

"  No  ;  you  must  pet  him  yourself  for  once.  I  hate  the 
sight  of  him  ;  it  has  made  mischief  between  Edouard 
and  me,  my  being  so  attentive  to  him.  Edouard  is 
jealous,  and  I  cannot  wonder.  After  all,  what  right 
have  I  to  mystify  him  who  honors  me  with  his  affec- 
tion ?  " 

Then,  being  pressed  with  questions  by  Josephine,  she 
related  to  her  all  that  had  passed  between  Edouard  and 
her,  word  for  word. 

"  Poor  Camille  ! "  sighed  Josephine  the  just. 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  !  poor  Camille  !  who  has  the  power  to 
make  us  all  miserable,  and  who  does  it,  and  will  go  on 
doing  it  until  he  is  happy  himself." 

"Ah  !  would  to  Heaven  I  could  make  him  as  happy  as 
he  deserves  to  be." 

"  You  could  easily  make  him  much  happier  than  that 
And  why  not  do  it  ?  " 


208  WHITE    LIES. 

"0  Hose,"  said  Josephine,  shocked,  "how  can  you 
advise  me  so  ?  " 

She  then  asked  her  if  she  thought  it  possible  that 
Camille  could  be  ignorant  of  her  heart. 

"Josephine,"  replied  Rose,  angrily,  "these  men  are 
absurd :  they  believe  only  what  they  see,  I  have  done 
what  I  can  for  you  and  Camille,  but  it  is  useless.  Would 
you  have  him  believe  you  love  him,  you  must  yourself  be 
kind  to  him  ;  and  it  would  be  a  charitable  action :  you 
would  make  four  unhappy  people  happy,  or,  at  least,  put 
them  on  the  road;  now  they  are  off  the  road,  and,  by 
what  I  have  seen  to-day,  I  think,  if  we  go  on  so  much 
longer,  it  will  be  too  late  to  try  to  return.  Come, 
Josephine,  for  my  sake  !  Let  me  go  and  tell  him  you 
will  consent  —  to  all  our  happinesses.  There,  the  crime 
is  mine."  And  she  ran  off  in  spite  of  Josephine's  faint 
and  hypocritical  entreaties.  She  returns  the  next  minute 
looking  all  aghast.  "  It  is  too  late,"  said  she.  "  He  is 
going  away.  I  am  sure  he  is,  for  he  is  packing  up  his 
things  to  go.  I  spied  through  the  old  place  and  saw 
him.  He  was  sighing  like  a  furnace  as  he  strapped  his 
portmanteau.  I  hate  him,  of  course,  but  I  was  sorry  for 
him.  I  could  not  help  being.  He  sighed  so  all  the 
time,  piteously." 

Josephine  turned  pale,  and  lifted  her  hands  in  sur- 
prise and  dismay. 

"  Depend  on  it,  Josephine,  we  are  wrong,"  said  Rose, 
firmly :  "  these  wretches  will  not  stand  our  nonsense 
above  a  certain  time :  they  are  not  such  fools.  We  are 
mismanaging:  one  gone,  the  other  going;  both  losing 
faith  in  us." 

Josephine's  color  returned  to  her  cheek,  and  then 
mounted  high.  Presently  she  smiled,  a  smile  full  of 
conscious  power  and  furtive  complacency,  and  said 
quietly,  "He  will  not  go." 


WHITE   LIES.  209 

Rose  was  pleased,  but  not  surprised,  to  hear  her  sister 
speak  so  confidently,  for  she  knew  her  power  ovei 
Camille.  "That  is  right,"  said  she,  "go  to  him,  and  say- 
two  honest  words  :  '  I  bid  you  stay.' " 

"0  Rose!  no!" 

"  Poltroon !  You  know  he  would  go  down  on  his 
knees,  and  stay  directly." 

"No:  I  should  blush  all  my  life  before  you  and  him. 
I  could  not.  I  should  let  him  go  sooner,  almost.  Oh, 
no !  I  will  never  ask  a  man  to  stay  who  wishes  to  leave 
me.  But  just  you  go  to  him,  and  say  jNIadame  Raynal  is 
going  to  take  a  little  walk  :  will  he  do  her  the  honor  to 
be  her  companion  ?     Not  a  word  more,  if  you  love  me." 

"  I'll  go.     Hypocrite  ! " 

Josephine  received  Camille  with  a  bright  smile.  She 
seemed  in  unusually  good  spirits,  and  overflowing  with 
kindness  and  innocent  affection.  On  this  his  high 
gloomy  brow  relaxed,  and  all  his  prospects  brightened 
as  by  magic.  Then  she  communicated  to  him  a  number 
of  little  plans  for  next  week  and  the  week  after.  Among 
the  rest  he  was  to  go  with  her  and  Rose  to  Frejus. 
"Such  a  sweet  place  :  I  want  to  show  it  you.  You  will 
come  ?  " 

He  hesitated  a  single  moment :  a  moment  of  intense 
anxiety  to  the  smiling  Josephine. 

"  Yes  !  he  would  come :  it  was  a  great  temptation,  he 
saw  so  little  of  her." 

"  Well,  you  will  see  more  of  me  now." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  every  day  —  alone,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  if  you  wish  it,"  replied  Josephine,  in  an 
off-hand,  indifferent  way. 

He  seized  her  hand  and  devoured  it  with  kisses. 

"Foolish  thing!"  murmured  she,  looking  down  on 
hira  with  ineffable  tenderness.  "Should  I  not  be 
14 


210  WHITE   LIES. 

always  with  you  if  1  consulted  my  inclination?  —  let 
me  go." 

"  No !  consult  your  inclination  a  little  longer." 

"  Must  I  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  shall  be  your  punishment." 

*'  For  what  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  "  asked  she  with  an 
air  of  great  innocence. 

"  You  have  made  me  happy,  me  who  adore  you,"  was 
the  evasive  reply. 

Josephine  came  in  from  her  walk  with  a  high  color  and 
beaming  eyes,  and  screamed,  "  Run,  Rose  !  " 

On  this  concise,  and  to  us  not  very  clear  instruction, 
Rose  slipped  up  the  secret  stair.  She  saw  Camille  come 
in  and  gravely  unpack  his  little  portmanteau,  and  dispose 
his  things  in  the  drawers  with  soldier-like  neatness,  and 
hum  an  agreeable  march.     She  came  and  told  Josephine. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Josephine  with  a  little  sigh  of  pleasure, 
and  a  gentle  triumph  in  her  eyes. 

She  had  not  only  got  her  desire,  but  had  arrived  at  it 
her  way, — woman's  way,  round  about. 

This  adroit  benevolence  led  to  more  than  she  bargained 
for.  She  and  Camille  were  now  together  every  day  :  and 
their  hearts,  being  under  restraint  in  public,  melted 
together  all  the  more  in  their  stolen  interviews. 

At  the  third  delicious  interview  the  modest  Camille 
begged  Josephine  to  be  his  wife  directly. 

Have  you  noticed  those  half  tame  deer  that  come  up 
to  you  in  a  park  so  lovingly,  with  great  tender  eyes,  and, 
being  now  almost  within  reach,  stop  short,  and  with 
bodies  fixed  like  statues  on  pedestals,  crane  out  their 
graceful  necks  for  sugar,  or  bread,  or  a  chestnut,  or  a 
pocket-handkerchief  ?  Do  but  offer  to  put  your  hand 
upon  them,  away  they  bound  that  moment  twenty  yards, 
and  then  stand  quite  still,  and  look  at  your  hand  and 
you,  with  great  inquiring,  suspicious,  tender  eyes. 


WHITE   LIES.  211 

So  Josephine  started  at  Camille's  audacious  proposal. 
"Never  mention  such  a  thing  to  me  again:  or  —  or,  I 
will  not  walk  with  you  any  more : "  then  she  thrilled 
with  pleasure  at  the  obnoxious  idea,  "she  Camille's  wife!" 
and  colored  all  over  —  with  rage,  Camille  thought.  He 
promised  submissively  not  to  renew  the  topic  :  no  more 
he  did  till  next  day.  Josephine  had  spent  nearly  the 
whole  interval  in  thinking  of  it ;  so  she  was  prepared  to 
put  him  down  by  calm  reasons.  She  proceeded  to  do  so, 
gently,  but  firmly. 

Lo  and  behold !  what  does  he  do,  but  meets  her  with 
just  as  many  reasons,  and  just  as  calm  ones:  and  urges 
them  gently,  but  firmly. 

Heaven  had  been  very  kind  to  them :  why  should 
they  be  unkind  to  themselves  ?  They  had  had  a  great 
escape :  why  not  accept  the  happiness,  as,  being  persons 
of  honor,  they  had  accepted  the  misery  ?  with  many 
other  arguments,  differing  in  other  things,  but  agreeing 
in  this,  that  they  were  all  sober,  grave,  and  full  of 
common-sense. 

Finding  him  not  defenceless  on  the  score  of  reason, 
she  shifted  her  ground  and  appealed  to  his  delicacy.  On 
this  he  appealed  to  her  love,  and  then  calm  reason  was 
jostled  off  the  field,  and  passion  and  sentiment  battled 
in  her  place. 

In  these  contests  day  by  day  renewed,  Camille  had 
many  advantages. 

Rose,  though  she  did  not  like  him,  had  now  declared 
on  his  side.  She  refused  to  show  him  the  least  atten- 
tion. This  threw  him  on  Josephine  :  and  when  Josephine 
begged  her  to  help  reduce  Camille  to  reason,  lier  answer 
would  be,  — 

"  Hypocrite  !  "  with  a  kiss  :  or  else  she  would  say,  with 
a  half  comic  petulance,  "  No  !  no !  I  am  on  his  side. 
Give  him  his  own  way,  or  he  will  make  us  all  foui 
miserable." 


212  WHITE   LIES. 

Thus  Josephine's  ally  went  over  to  the  enemy. 

And  then  this  coy  young  lady's  very  power  of  resist- 
ance began  to  give  way.  She  had  now  battled  for  months 
against  her  own  heart :  first  for  her  mother ;  then,  in  a 
far  more  terrible  conflict  for  Raynal,  for  honor  and 
purity ;  and  of  late  she  had  been  battling,  still  against 
her  own  heart,  for  delicacy,  for  etiquette,  things  very 
dear  to  her,  but  not  so  great,  holy,  and  sustaining  as 
honor  and  charity  that  were  her  very  household  gods : 
and  so,  just  when  the  motives  of  resistance  were  lowered, 
the  length  of  the  resistance  began  to  wear  her  out. 

For  nothing  is  so  hard  to  her  sex  as  a  long  steady 
struggle.  In  matters  physical,  this  is  the  thing  the 
muscles  of  the  fair  cannot  stand ;  in  matters  intellectual 
and  moral,  the  long  strain  it  is  that  beats  them  dead. 

Do  not  look  for  a  Bacona,  a  Newtona,  a  Handella,  a 
Victoria  Huga. 

Some  American  ladies  tell  us  education  has  stopped 
the  growth  of  these. 

No !  mesdames.     These  are  not  in  nature. 

They  can  bubble  letters  in  ten  minutes  that  you  could 
no  more  deliver  to  order  in  ten  days  than  a  river  can 
play  like  a  fountain.  They  can  sparkle  gems  of  stories : 
they  can  flash  little  diamonds  of  poems.  The  entire  sex 
has  never  produced  one  opera  nor  one  epic  that  mankind 
could  tolerate :  and  why  ?  these  come  by  long,  high- 
strung  labor.  But,  weak  as  they  are  in  the  long  run  of 
everything  but  the  affections  (and  there  giants),  they 
are  all  overpowering  while  their  gallop  lasts.  Fragilla 
shall  dance  any  two  of  you  flat  on  the  floor  before  four 
o'clock,  and  then  dance  on  till  the  peep  of  day. 

Only  you  trundle  off  to  your  business  as  usual,  and 
could  dance  again  the  next  night,  and  so  on  through 
countless  ages. 

She  who  danced  you  into  nothing  is  in  bed,  a  human 
jelly  tipped  with  headache. 


WHITE   LIES.  213 

What  did  Josephine  say  to  Rose  one  day  ?  "  I  am 
tired  of  saying  '  No  !  no !  no  !  no !  no  ! '  forever  and  ever 
to  him  I  love." 

But  this  was  not  all.  She  was  not  free  from  self- 
reproach.  Camille's  faith  in  her  had  stood  firm.  Hers 
in  him  had  not.  She  had  wronged  him,  first  by  believ- 
ing him  false,  then  by  marrying  another.  One  day  she 
asked  his  pardon  for  this.  He  replied  that  he  had  for- 
given that ;  but  would  she  be  good  enough  to  make  him 
forget  it  ? 

"  I  wish  I  could." 

"  You  can.  Marry  me :  then  your  relation  to  that  man 
will  seem  but  a  hideous  dream.  I  shall  be  able  to  say, 
looking  at  you,  my  wife,  '  I  was  faithful :  I  suffered 
something  for  her ;  I  came  home :  she  loved  me  still ; 
the  proof  is,  she  was  my  wife  within  three  months  of 
my  return.' " 

When  he  said  that  to  her  in  the  Pleasaunce,  if  there 
had  been  a  priest  at  hand  — .  In  a  word,  Josephine  longed 
to  show  him  her  love,  yet  wished  not  to  shock  her  mother, 
nor  offend  her  own  sense  of  delicacy  ;  but  Camille  cared 
for  nothing  but  his  love.  To  sacrifice  love  and  happi- 
ness, even  for  a  time,  to  etiquette,  seemed  to  him  to  be 
trifling  with  the  substance  of  great  things  for  the  shadow 
of  petty  things ;  and  he  said  so :  sometimes  sadly,  some- 
times almost  bitterly. 

So  Josephine  was  a  beleagured  fortress,  attacked  with 
one  will,  and  defended  by  troops,  one-third  of  which  were 
hot  on  the  side  of  the  besiegers. 

When  singleness  attacks  division,  you  know  the  result 
beforehand.  Why  then  should  I  spin  words  ?  I  will 
not  trace  so  ill-matched  a  contest  step  by  step,  sentence 
by  sentence :  let  me  rather  hasten  to  relate  the  one 
peculiarity  that  arose  out  of  this  trite  contest,  where, 
under  the   names  of   Camille   and   Josephine,  the  two 


214  WHITE   LIES. 

great  sexes  may  be  seen  acting  the  whole  world-wide 
distich,  — 

"  It's  a  man's  part  to  try, 
And  a  woman's  to  deny  [for  a  while?]." 

Finding  her  own  resolutions  oozing  away,  Josephine 
caught  at  another  person. 

She  said  to  Camille  before  Rose,  — 

"  Even  if  I  could  bring  myself  to  snatch  at  happiness 
in  this  indelicate  way  —  scarce  a  month  after,  oh ! "  And 
there  ended  the  lady's  sentence.  In  the  absence  of  a 
legitimate  full  stop,  she  put  one  hand  before  her  lovely 
face  to  hide  it,  and  so  no  more.  But  some  two  minutes 
after  she  delivered  the  rest  in  the  form  and  with  the 
tone  of  a  distinct  remark,  "  No  :  my  mother  would  never 
consent." 

"  Yes,  she  would  if  you  could  be  brought  to  implore 
her  as  earnestly  as  I  implore  you." 

"Now  would  she  ?  "  asked  Josephine,  turning  quickly 
to  her  sister. 

"No,  never.  Our  mother  would  look  with  horror  on 
such  a  proposal.  A  daughter  of  hers  to  marry  within  a 
twelvemonth  of  her  widowhood  !  " 

"  There,  you  see,  Camille." 

"  And,  besides,  she  loved  Raynal  so ;  she  has  not  for- 
gotten him  as  we  have,  almost." 

"  Ungrateful  creature  that  I  am  !  "  sighed  Josephine! 

"  She  mourns  for  him  every  day.  Often  I  see  her  eyes 
suddenly  fill ;  that  is  for  him.  Josephine's  influence  with 
mamma  is  very  great :  it  is  double  mine ;  but  if  we  all 
went  on  our  knees  to  her,  the  doctor  and  all,  she  would 
never  consent." 

"  There  you  see,  Camille :  and  I  could  not  defy  my 
mother,  even  for  you." 

Camille  sighed. 


"WHITE   LIES.  215 

"I  see  everything  is  against  me,  even  my  love:  for 
that  love  is  too  much  akin  to  veneration  to  propose  to 
you  a  clandestine  marriage."' 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  bless  you  for  respecting  as  well  as 
loving  me,  dear  Camille,"  said  Josephine. 

These  words,  uttered  with  gentle  warmth,  were  some 
consolation  to  Camille,  and  confirmed  him,  as  they  were 
intended  to  do,  in  the  above  good  resolution.     He  smiled. 

"  Maladroit !  "  muttered  Rose. 

"  Why  maladroit  ?  "  asked  Camille,  opening  his  eyes. 

"  Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  replied  Rose,  coolly. 

Camille  turned  red.  He  understood  that  he  had  done 
something  very  stupid,  but  he  could  not  conceive  what. 
He  looked  from  one  sister  to  the  other  alternately.  Rose 
was  smiling  ironically,  Josephine  had  her  eyes  bent 
demurely  on  a  handkerchief  she  was  embroidering. 

That  evening  Camille  drew  Rose  aside,  and  asked  for 
an  explanation  of  her  "  maladroit." 

"  So  it  was,"  replied  Rose,  sharply. 

But  as  this  did  not  make  the  matter  quite  clear,  Camille 
begged  a  little  further  explanation. 

"  Was  it  your  part  to  make  difficulties  ?  " 

"No,  indeed." 

"  Was  it  for  you  to  tell  her  a  secret  marriage  would 
not  be  delicate  ?  Do  you  think  she  will  be  behind  you 
in  delicacy  ?  or  that  a  love  without  respect  will  satisfy 
her  ?  yet  you  must  go  and  tell  her  you  respected  her  too 
much  to  ask  her  to  marry  you  secretly.  In  other  words, 
situated  as  she  is,  you  asked  her  not  to  marry  you  at 
all :  she  consented  to  that  directly ;  what  else  could  you 
expect  ?  " 

^^ Maladroit !  indeed,"  said  Camille,  "but  I  would  not 
have  said  it,  only  I  thought "  — 

"You  thought  nothing  would  induce  her  to  marry 
secretly,  so  you  said  to  yourself,  *I  will  assume  a  virtue; 


216  WHITE   LIES. 

I  will  do  a  bit  of  cheap  self-denial :  decline  to  the  sound 
of  trumpets  what  anotlier  will  be  sure  to  deny  me  if  I 
don't  —  ha!  ha!'  —  well,  for  your  comfort,  I  am  Vjy  no 
means  so  sure  she  might  not  have  been  brought  to  do 
anything  for  you,  except  openly  defy  mamma :  but  now 
of  course  "  — 

And  here  this  young  lady's  sentence  ended :  for  the 
sisters,  unlike  in  most,  things  were  one  in  grammar. 

Camille  was  so  disconcerted  and  sad  at  what  he  had 
done,  that  Rose  began  to  pity  him  :  so  she  rallied  him  a 
little  longer  in  spite  of  her  pity :  and  then  all  of  a  sudden 
gave  him  her  hand,  and  said  she  would  try  and  repair 
the  mischief. 

He  began  to  smother  her  hand  with  kisses. 

"  Oh ! "  said  she,  "  I  don't  deserve  all  that :  I  have  a 
motive  of  my  own  ;  let  me  alone,  child,  do.  Your  un- 
lucky speech  will  be  quoted  to  me  a  dozen  times.  Never 
mind." 

Rose  went  and  bribed  Josephine  to  consent. 

"  Come,  mamma  shall  not  know,  and  as  for  you,  you 
shall  scarcely  move  in  the  matter ;  only  do  not  oppose 
me  very  violently,  and  all  will  be  well." 

"Ah,  Rose!"  said  Josephine;  "it  is  delightful  — 
terrible,  I  mean  —  to  have  a  little  creature  about  one 
that  reads  one  like  this.  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall 
I  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  do  the  best  you  can  under  all  the  circumstances. 
His  wound  is  healed,  you  know  ;  he  must  go  back  to  the 
army ;  j^ou  have  both  suffered  to  the  limits  of  mortal 
endurance.  Is  he  to  go  away  unhappy,  in  any  doubt 
of  your  affection  ?  and  you  to  remain  behind  with  the 
misery  of  self-reproach  added  to  the  desolation  of 
absence  ?  —  think." 

"It  is  cruel.     But  to  deceive  my  mother  !" 

"  Do  not  say  deceive  our  mother ;  that  is  such  a 
shocking  phrase." 


WHITE   LIES.  217 

.Rose  then  reminded  Josephine  that  their  confessor 
had  told  them  a  wise  reticence  was  not  the  same  thing 
as  a  moral  deceit.  She  reminded  her,  too,  how  often 
they  had  acted  on  his  advice  and  always  with  good 
effect ;  how  many  anxieties  and  worries  they  had  saved 
their  mother  by  reticence.  Josephine  assented  warmly 
to  this. 

Was  there  not  some  reason  to  think  they  had  saved 
their  mother's  very  life  by  these  reticences  ?  Josephine 
assented.  "And,  Josephine,  you  are  of  age;  you  are 
your  own  mistress  ;  you  have  a  right  to  marry  whom  you 
please  :  and,  sooner  or  later,  you  will  certainly  marry 
Camille.  1  doubt  whether  even  our  mother  could  prevail 
on  you  to  refuse  him  altogether.  So  it  is  but  a  question 
of  time,  and  of  giving  our  mother  pain,  or  sparing  her 
pain.  Dear  mamma  is  old  ;  she  is  prejudiced.  Why 
shock  her  prejudices  ?  She  could  not  be  brought  to 
understand  the  case  :  these  things  never  happened  in 
her  day.  Everything  seems  to  have  gone  by  rule  then. 
Let  us  do  nothing  to  worry  her  for  the  short  time  she 
has  to  live.  Let  us  take  a  course  between  pain  to  her 
and  cruelty  to  you  and  Camille." 

These  arguments  went  far  to  convince  Josephine  :  for 
her  own  heart  supported  them.  She  went  from  her  solid 
objections  to  untenable  ones  —  a  great  point  gained. 
She  urged  the  difficulty,  the  impossibility  of  a  secret 
marriage. 

Camille  burst  in  here  :  he  undertook  at  once  to  over- 
come these  imaginary  difficulties.  "  They  could  be  mar- 
ried at  a  distance." 

"You  will  find  no  priest  who  will  consent  to  do  such  a 
Avicked  thing  as  marry  us  without  my  mother's  knowl- 
edge," objected  Josephine. 

"Oh!  as  to  that,"  said  Rose,  "you  know  the  mayoi 
marries  people  nowadays." 


218  WHITE   LIES. 

"  I  will  not  be  married  again  without  a  priest,"  said 
Josephine,  sharply. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Camille.  "  I  know  a  mayor  who  will  do 
the  civil  forms  for  me,  and  a  priest  who  will  marry  me 
in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  both  will  keep  it  secret  for 
love  of  me  till  it  shall  please  Josephine  to  throw  off  this 
disguise." 

"  Who  is  the  priest  ?  "  inquired  Josephine,  keenly. 

"An  old  cure :  he  lives  near  Frejus  :  he  was  my  tutor, 
and  the  mayor  is  the  mayor  of  Frejus,  also  an  old  friend 
of  mine." 

"  But  what  on  earth  will  you  say  to  them  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  affair :  I  must  give  them  some  reasons 
which  compel  me  to  keep  my  marriage  secret.  Oh  !  I 
shall  have  to  tell  them  some  fibs,  of  course." 

"  There,  I  thought  so  !  I  will  not  have  you  telling 
fibs  ;  it  lowers  you." 

"  Of  course  it  does ;  but  you  can't  have  secrecy  without 
a  fib  or  two." 

"Fibs  that  will  injure  no  one,"  said  Rose,  majestically. 

From  this  day  Camille  began  to  act  as  well  as  to  talk. 
He  bought  a  light  caleche  and  a  powerful  horse,  and 
elected  factotum  Dard  his  groom.  Camille  rode  over  to 
Frejus  and  told  a  made-up  story  to  the  old  cure  and  the 
mayor,  and  these  his  old  friends  believed  every  word 
he  said,  and  readily  promised  their  services  and  strict 
secrecy. 

He  told  the  young  ladies  what  he  had  done. 

Rose  approved.  Josephine  shook  her  head,  and  seeing 
matters  going  as  her  heart  desired  and  her  conscience 
did  not  quite  approve,  she  suddenly  affected  to  be  next 
to  nobody  in  the  business  —  to  be  resigned,  passive,  and 
disposed  of  to  her  surprise  by  Queen  Rose  and  King 
Camille,  without  herself  taking  any  actual  part  in  their 
proceedings. 


WHITE   LIES.  219 

At  last  the  great  day  arrived  on  which  Camille  and 
Josephine  were  to  be  married  at  Frejus. 

Tlie  mayor  awaited  them  at  eleven  o'clock.  The  cure 
at  twelve.  The  family  had  been  duly  prepared  for  this 
excursion  by  several  smaller  ones. 

Rose  announced  their  intention  over  night ;  a  part 
of  it. 

"Mamma,"  said  she,  blushing  a  little,  "Colonel 
Dujardin  is  good  enough  to  take  us  to  Frejus  to- 
morrow. It  is  a  long  way,  and  we  must  breakfast 
early  or  we  shall  not  be  back  to  dinner." 

"  Do  so,  my  child.  I  hope  you  will  have  a  fine  day  : 
and  mind  you  take  plenty  of  wraps  with  you  in  case  of 
a  shower." 

At  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  Camille  and  the 
two  ladies  took  a  hasty  cup  of  coffee  together  instead  of 
breakfast,  and  then  Dard  brought  the  caleche  round. 

The  ladies  got  in,  and  Camille  had  just  taken  the  reins 
in  his  hand,  when  Jacintha  screamed  to  him  from  the 
hall,  "  Wait  a  moment,  colonel,  wait  a  moment !  The 
doctor  !  don't  go  without  the  doctor ! "  And  the  next 
moment  Dr.  Aubertin  appeared  with  his  cloak  on  his 
arm,  and,  saluting  the  ladies  politely,  seated  himself 
quietly  in  the  vehicle  before  the  party  had  recovered 
their  surprise. 

The  ladies  managed  to  keep  their  countenances,  but 
Dujardin's  discomfiture  was  evident. 

He  looked  piteously  at  Josephine,  and  then  asked 
Aubertin  if  they  were  to  set  him  down  anywhere  in 
particular. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  1  am  going  with  you  to  Frejus,"  was  the 
quiet  reply. 

Josephine  quaked.  Camille  was  devoured  with  secret 
rage :  he  lashed  the  horse  and  away  they  went. 

It  was  a  silent  party.    The  doctor  seemed  in  a  reverie. 


220  WHITE   LIES. 

The  others  did  not  know  what  to  think,  much  less  to  say. 
Aubertin  sat  by  Camille's  side  ;  so  the  latter  could  hold 
no  secret  communication  with  either  lady. 

Now  it  was  not  the  doctor's  habit  to  rise  at  this  time 
of  the  morning  :  yet  there  he  was,  going  with  them  to 
Frejus  uninvited. 

Josephine  was  in  agony ;  had  their  intention  trans- 
pired through  some  imprudence  of  Camille  ? 

Camille  was  terribly  uneasy.  He  concluded  the  secret 
had  transpired  through  female  indiscretion.  Then  they 
all  tortured  themselves  as  to  the  old  man's  intention. 
But  what  seemed  most  likely  was,  that  he  was  with 
them  to  prevent  a  clandestine  marriage  by  his  bare  pres- 
ence, without  making  a  scene  and  shocking  Josephine's 
pride :  and  if  so,  was  he  there  by  his  own  impulse  ? 
No,  it  was  rather  to  be  feared  that  all  this  was  done  by 
order  of  the  baroness.  There  was  a  finesse  about  it  that 
smacked  of  a  feminine  origin,  and  the  baroness  was  very 
capable  of  adopting  such  a  means  as  this,  to  spare  her 
own  pride  and  her  favorite  daughter's.  "  The  clandes- 
tine "  is  not  all  sugar.  A  more  miserable  party  never 
Avent  along,  even  to  a  wedding. 

After  waiting  a  long  time  for  the  doctor  to  declare 
himself,  they  turned  desperate,  and  began  to  chatter  all 
manner  of  trifles.  This  had  a  good  effect :  it  roused 
Aubertin  from  his  reverie,  and  presently  he  gave  them 
the  following  piece  of  information :  "  I  told  you  the  other 
day  that  a  nephew  of  mine  was  just  dead ;  a  nephew 
I  had  not  seen  for  many  years.  Well,  my  friends,  I 
received  last  night  a  hasty  summons  to  his  funeral." 

"At  Frejus?" 

"No,  at  Paris.  The  invitation  was  so  pressing,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  go.  The  letter  informed  me,  however, 
that  a  diligence  passes  through  Frejus,  at  eleven  o'clock, 
for  Paris.     I  heard  you  say  you  were  going  to  Frejus ; 


WHITE   LIES.  221 

SO  I  packed  up  a  few  changes  of  linen,  and  my  MS.,  my 
work  on  entomology,  which  at  my  last  visit  to  the  capital 
all  the  publishers  were  mad  enough  to  refuse  :  here  it  is. 
Aprojjos,  has  Jacintha  put  my  bag  into  the  carriage  ?  " 

On  this  a  fierce  foot-search,  and  the  bag  was  found. 
Meantime,  Josephine  leaned  back  in  her  seat  with  a 
sigh  of  thankfulness.  She  was  more  intent  on  not  being 
found  out  than  on  being  married.  But  Camille,  who  was 
more  intent  on  being  married  than  on  not  being  found 
out,  was  asking  himself,  with  fury,  how  on  earth  they 
should  get  rid  of  Aubertin  in  time. 

Well,  of  course,  under  such  circumstances  as  these  the 
diligence  did  not  come  to  its  time,  nor  till  long  after ; 
and  all  the  while  they  were  waiting  for  it  they  were 
failing  their  rendezvous  with  the  mayor,  and  making 
their  rendezvous  with  the  curate  impossible.  But,  above 
all,  there  was  the  risk  of  one  or  other  of  those  friends 
coming  up  and  blurting  all  out,  taking  for  granted  that 
the  doctor  must  be  in  their  confidence,  or  why  bring 
him. 

At  last,  at  half-past  eleven  o'clock,  to  their  great 
relief,  up  came  the  diligence.  The  doctor  prepared  to 
take  his  place  in  the  interior,  when  the  conductor 
politely  informed  him  that  the  vehicle  stopped  there  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

"  In  that  case  I  will  not  abandon  my  friends,"  said 
the  doctor,  affectionately. 

One  of  his  friends  gnashed  his  teeth  at  this  mark  of 
affection.     But  Josephine  smiled  sweetly. 

At  last  he  was  gone;  but  it  wanted  ten  minutes  only 
to  twelve. 

Josephine  inquired  amiably,  whether  it  would  not  be 
as  well  to  postpone  matters  to  another  day  —  meaning 
forever.  "My  ardor  is  chilled,"  said  she,  and  showed 
symptoms  of  crying  at  what  she  had  gone  through. 


222  WHITE    LIES. 

Camille  replied  by  lialf  dragging  them  to  the  mayor. 
That  worthy  received  them  with  profound,  though  some- 
what demure  respect,  and  invited  them  to  a  table  sump- 
tuously served.  The  ladies,  out  of  politeness,  were 
about  to  assent,  but  Camille  begged  permission  to  post- 
pone that  part  until  after  the  ceremony. 

At  last,  to  their  astonishment,  they  were  married. 
Then,  with  a  promise  to  return  and  dine  with  the  mayor, 
they  went  to  the  cure.  Lo  and  behold !  he  was  gone  to 
visit  a  sick  person.  "  He  had  waited  a  long  time  for 
them,"  said  the  servant. 

Josephine  was  much  disconcerted,  and  showed  a  dispo- 
sition to  cry  again.  The  servant,  a  good-natured  girl, 
nosed  a  wedding,  and  offered  to  run  and  bring  his  rever- 
ence in  a  minute. 

Presently  there  came  an  old  silvery-haired  man,  who 
addressed  them  all  as  his  children.  He  took  them  to 
the  church,  and  blessed  their  union ;  and  for  the  first 
time  Josephine  felt  as  if  Heaven  consented.  They  took 
a  gentle  farewell  of  him,  and  went  back  to  the  mayor's 
to  dine ;  and  at  this  stage  of  the  business  Rose  and 
Josephine  at  last  effected  a  downright  simultaneous  cry, 
apropos  of  nothing  that  was  then  occurring. 

This  refreshed  them  mightily,  and  they  glowed  at  the 
mayor's  table  like  roses  washed  with  dew. 

But  oh !  how  glad  at  heart  they  all  were  to  find  them- 
selves in  the  carriage  once  more  going  home  to  Beaure- 
paire. 

Rose  and  Josephine  sat  intertwined  on  the  back  seat ; 
Camille,  the  reins  in  his  right  hand,  nearly  turned  his 
back  on  the  horse,  and  leaned  back  over  to  them  and 
purred  to  Rose  and  his  wife  with  ineffable  triumph  and 
tenderness. 

The  lovers  were  in  E'ysium,  and  Rose  was  not  a  little 
proud   of    her   good    management   in   ending   all   their 


WHITE    LIEf?.  223 

troubles.  Their  mother  received  them  back  with  great, 
and  as  they  fancied,  with  singuhir,  affection.  She  was 
beginning  to  be  anxious  about  them,  she  said.  Then 
her  kindness  gave  these  happy  souls  a  pang  it  never 
gave  them  before. 

Since  the  above  events  scarce  a  fortnight  had  elapsed ; 
but  such  a  change !  Camille  sunburnt  and  healthy,  and 
full  of  animation  and  confidence ;  Josephine  beaming 
with  suppressed  happiness,  and  more  beautiful  than 
Rose  could  ever  remember  to  have  seen  her.  For  a  soft 
halo  of  love  and  happiness  shone  around  her  head ;  a 
new  and  indefinable  attraction  bloomed  on  her  face. 
She  was  a  wife.  Her  eye,  that  used  to  glance  furtively 
on  Camille,  now  dwelt  demurely  on  him ;  dwelt  with  a 
sort  of  gentle  wonder  and  admiration  as  well  as  affection, 
and,  when  he  came  or  passed  very  near  her,  a  keen 
observer  might  have  seen  her  thrill. 

She  kept  a  good  deal  out  of  her  mother's  way  ;  for  she 
felt  within  that  her  face  must  be  too  happy.  She  feared 
to  shock  her  mother's  grief  with  her  radiance.  She  was 
ashamed  of  feeling  unmixed  heaven.  But  the  flood  of 
secret  bliss  she  floated  in  bore  all  misgivings  away. 
The  pair  were  forever  stealing  away  together  for  hours, 
and  on  these  occasions  Rose  used  to  keep  out  of  her 
mother's  sight,  until  they  should  return.  So  then  the 
new-married  couple  could  wander  hand  in  hand  through 
the  thick  woods  of  Beaurepaire,  whose  fresh  green  leaves 
were  now  just  out,  and  hear  the  distant  cuckoo,  and  sit 
on  mossy  banks,  and  pour  love  into  one  another's  eyes, 
and  plan  ages  of  happiness,  and  murmur  their  deep  pas- 
sion and  their  bliss  almost  more  than  mortal ;  could  do 
all  this  and  more,  without  shocking  propriety.  These 
sweet  duets  passed  for  trios :  for  on  their  return  Rose 
would  be  out  looking  for  them,  or  would  go  and  meet 
them  at  some  distance,  and  all  three  would  go  up  together 


224  WHITE    LIES. 

to  the  baroness,  as  from  a  joint  excursion.  And  when 
they  went  up  to  their  bedrooms,  Josephine  would  throw 
her  arms  round  her  sister's  neck,  and  sigh,  "It  is  not 
happiness,  it  is  beatitude  ! " 

Meantime,  the  baroness  mourned  for  Raynal.  Her 
grief  showed  no  decrease.  Rose  even  fancied  at  times 
she  wore  a  gloomy  and  discontented  look  as  well ;  but 
on  reflection  she  attributed  that  to  her  own  fancy,  or  to 
the  contrast  that  had  now  sprung  up  in  her  sister's  beam- 
ing complacency. 

Rose,  when  she  found  herself  left  day  after  day  alone 
for  hours,  was  sad  and  thought  of  Edouard.  And  this 
feeling  gained  on  her  day  by  day. 

At  last,  one  afternoon,  she  locked  herself  in  her  own 
room,  and,  after  a  long  contest  with  her  pride,  which,  if 
not  indomitable,  was  next  door  to  it,  she  sat  down  to 
write  him  a  little  letter.  Now,  in  this  letter,  in  the 
place  devoted  by  men  to  their  after-thoughts,  by  women 
to  their  pretended  after-thoughts ;  i.  e.,  to  what  they  have 
been  thinking  of  all  through  the  letter,  she  dropped  a 
careless  hint  that  all  the  party  missed  him  very  much, 
"even  the  obnoxious  colonel,  who,  by-the-by,  has  trans- 
ferred his  services  elsewhere.  I  have  forgiven  him  that, 
because  he  has  said  civil  things  about  you." 

Rose  was  reading  her  letter  over  again,  to  make  sure 
that  all  the  principal  expressions  were  indistinct,  and 
that  the  composition  generally,  except  the  postscript, 
resembled  a  Delphic  oracle,  when  there  was  a  hasty  foot- 
step, and  a  tap  at  her  door,  and  in  came  Jacintha, 
excited. 

"He  is  come,  mademoiselle,"  cried  she,  and  nodded 
her  head  like  a  mandarin,  only  more  knowingly ;  then 
she  added,  "  So  you  may  burn  that."  For  her  quick  eye 
had  glanced  at  the  table. 

"Who  is  come  ?  "  inquired  Rose,  eagerly. 


WHITE   LIES.  225 

"  Why,  your  one  ?  " 

"  My  one  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady,  reddening,  "  my 
what  ?  " 

"  The  little  one  —  Edouard  —  Monsieur  Riviere." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Eiviere,"  said  Rose,  acting  noncha- 
lance. "Why  could  you  not  say  so?  you  use  such 
phrases,  who  can  conjecture  what  you  mean  ?  I  will 
come  to  Monsieur  Eiviere  directly ;  mamma  will  be  so 
glad." 

Jacintha  gone,  Rose  tore  up  the  letter  and  locked  up 
the  pieces,  then  ran  to  the  glass.     Etc. 

Edouard  had  been  so  profoundly  miserable  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer ;  in  spite  of  his  determination  not  to 
visit  Beaurepaire  while  it  contained  a  rival,  he  rode  over 
to  see  whether  he  had  not  tormented  himself  idly : 
above  all,  to  see  the  beloved  face. 

Jacintha  put  him  into  the  salle  a  manger.  "By  that 
you  will  see  her  alone,"  said  the  knowing  Jacintha.  He 
sat  down,  hat  and  whip  in  hand,  and  wondered  how  he 
should  be  received  —  if  at  all. 

In  glides  Rose  all  sprightliness  and  good-humor,  and 
puts  out  her  hand  to  him ;  the  which  he  kisses. 

"  How  could  I  keep  away  so  long  ?  "  asked  he  vaguely, 
and  self-astonished. 

"How  indeed,  and  we  missing  you  so  all  the  time ! " 

"  Have  you  missed  me  ?  "  was  the  eager  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  was  the  cheerful  reply  ;  "but  all  the  rest 
have." 

Presently  the  malicious  thing  gave  a  sudden  start. 

"  Oh !  such  a  piece  of  news ;  you  remember  Colonel 
Dujardin,  the  obnoxious  colonel  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Transferred  his  attentions.     Fancy  ! " 

"  Who  to  ?  " 

"  To  Josephine  and  mamma.     But  such  are  the  mill- 


226  WHITE   LIES. 

taiy.  He  only  wanted  to  get  rid  of  you :  this  done 
(through  your  want  of  spirit),  he  scorns  the  rich  prize ; 
so  now  I  scorn  him.     Will  you  come  for  a  walk  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"  We  will  go  and  look  for  my  deserter.  I  say,  tell  me 
now ;  cannot  I  write  to  the  commander-in-chief  about 
this  ?  a  soldier  has  no  right  to  be  a  deserter,  has  he  ? 
tell  me,  you  are  a  public  man,  and  know  everything 
except  my  heart." 

"  Is  it  not  too  bad  to  tease  me  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes !  but  please  !  I  have  had  few  amusements  of 
late.     I  find  it  so  dull  without  you  to  tease." 

Formal  permission  to  tease  being  conceded,  she  went 
that  instant  on  the  opposite  tack,  and  began  to  tell  him 
how  she  had  missed  him,  and  how  sorry  she  had  been 
anything  should  have  occurred  to  vex  their  kind  good 
friend.  In  short,  Edouard  spent  a  delightful  day,  for 
Rose  took  him  one  way  to  meet  Josephine,  who,  she 
knew,  was  coming  another.  At  night  the  last  embers  of 
jealousy  got  quenched,  for  Josephine  was  a  wife  now, 
and  had  already  begun  to  tell  Camille  all  her  little  inno- 
cent secrets ;  and  she  told  him  all  about  Edouard  and 
Rose,  and  gave  him  his  orders ;  so  he  treated  Rose  with 
great  respect  before  Edouard ;  but  paid  her  no  marked 
attention;  also  he  was  affable  to  Riviere,  who,  having 
ceased  to  suspect,  began  to  like  him. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  the  colonel  also  informed 
the  baroness  that  he  expected  every  day  an  order  to  join 
the  army  of  the  Rhine. 

Edouard  pricked  his  ears. 

The  baroness  said  no  more  than  politeness  dictated. 
She  did  not  press  him  to  stay,  but  treated  his  departure 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Riviere  rode  home  late  in  the 
evening  in  high  spirits. 

The  next  day  Rose  varied  her  late  deportment ;  she 


WHITE   LIES.  227 

sang  snatches  of  melody,  going  about  the  house ;  it  was 
for  all  the  world  like  a  bird  chirping.  In  the  middle  of 
one  chirp  Jacintha  interfered.  "  Hush,  mademoiselle, 
your  mamma!  she  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  corridor." 

"  What  was  I  thinking  of  ?  "  said  Rose. 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  you  know,  madejnoiselle,"  replied  the 
privileged  domestic. 

A  letter  of  good  news  came  from  Aubertin.  That 
summons  to  his  nephew's  funeral  was  an  era  in  his 
harmless  life. 

The  said  nephew  was  a  rich  man  and  an  oddity ;  one 
of  those  who  love  to  surprise  folk,  Moreovei",  he  had 
no  children,  and  detected  his  ne})hews  and  nieces  being 
unnaturally  civil  to  him.  "  Waiting  to  cut  me  up,"  was 
his  generous  reading  of  them.  So  with  this  he  made  a 
will,  and  there  defied,  as  far  as  in  him  lay,  the  laAvs  of 
nature  ;  for  he  set  his  wealth  a-flowing  backwards  instead 
of  forwards ;  he  handed  his  property  up  to  an  ancestor, 
instead  of  down  to  posterity. 

All  this  the  doctor's  pen  set  down  with  some  humor, 
and  in  the  calm  spirit  with  which  a  genuine  philoso})her 
receives  prosperity  as  well  as  adversity.  Yet  one  natural 
regret  escaped  him ;  that  all  this  wealth,  since  it  was  to 
come,  had  not  come  a  year  or  two  sooner. 

All  at  Beaurepaire  knew  what  their  dear  old  friend 
meant. 

His  other  news  to  them  was  that  they  might  expect 
him  any  moment. 

So  here  was  another  cause  of  rejoicing. 

"I  am  so  glad,"  said  Josephine.  "Now,  perhaps,  he 
will  be  able  to  publish  his  poor  dear  entomology,  tliat 
the  booksellers  were  all  so  unkind,  so  unfeeling  about." 

I  linger  on  the  brink  of  painful  scenes  to  observe  that 
a  sweet  and  loving  friendship,  such  as  this  was  between 
the  good  doctor  and  three  persons  of  another  sex,  is  one 


228  WHITE   LIES, 

of  the  best  treasures  of  the  human  heart.  Poverty  had 
strengthened  it;  yet  now  Avealth  could  not  weaken  it. 
With  no  tie  of  blood  it  yet  was  filial,  sisterly,  brotherly, 
national,  chivalrous  ;  happy,  unalloyed  sentiment,  free 
from  ups  and  downs,  from  heats  and  chills,  from  rivalry, 
from  caprice ;  and,  indeed,  from  all  mortal  accidents  but 
one  —  and  why  say  one  ?  methinks  death  itself  does  but 
suspend  these  gentle,  rare,  unselfish  amities  a  moment, 
then  waft  them  upward  to  their  abiding  home. 


WHITE   LIES.  229 


CHAPTER  XV. 

It  was  a  fair  morning  in  June :  the  sky  was  a  bright, 
deep,  lovely,  speckless  blue :  the  flowers  and  bushes 
poured  perfume,  and  sprinkled  song  upon  the  balmy  air. 
On  such  a  day,  so  calm,  so  warm,  so  bright,  so  scented, 
so  tuneful,  to  live  and  to  be  young  is  to  be  happy.  With 
gentle  hand  it  wipes  all  other  days  out  of  the  memory ;  it 
smiles,  it  smells,  it  sings,  and  clouds  and  rain  and  biting 
wind  seem  as  far  off  and  impossible  as  grief  and  trouble. 

Camille  and  Josephine  had  stolen  out,  and  strolled 
lazily  up  and  down  close  under  the  house,  drinking  the 
sweet  air,  fragrant  with  perfume  and  melody ;  the  blue 
sky,  and  love. 

Eose  was  in  the  house.  She  had  missed  them  ;  but 
she  thought  they  must  be  near;  for  they  seldom  took 
long  walks  early  in  the  day.  Meeting  Jacintha  on  the 
landing  of  the  great  staircase,  she  asked  her  where  her 
sister  was. 

"  Madame  Eaynal  is  gone  for  a  walk.  She  has  taken 
the  colonel  with  her.  You  know  she  always  takes  the 
colonel  out  with  her  now." 

"  That  will  do.     You  can  finish  your  work." 

Jacintha  went  into  Camille's  room. 

Rose,  who  had  looked  as  grave  as  a  judge  while 
Jacintha  was  present,  bubbled  into  laughter.  She  even 
repeated  Jacintha's  words  aloud,  and  chuckled  over 
them.  ''  You  know  she  always  takes  the  colonel  out 
with  her  now  —  ha,  ha,  ha ! " 

"  Rose  ! "  sighed  a  distant  voice. 

She  looked  round,  and  saw  the  baroness  at  some  dis- 


230  WHITE   LIES. 

tance  in  the  corridor,  coining  slowly  towards  her,  with 
eyes  bent  gloomily  on  the  ground.  Rose  composed  her 
features  into  a  settled  gravity,  and  went  to  meet  her. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  you,"  said  the  baroness ;  "  let 
us  sit  down  ;  it  is  cool  here." 

Rose  ran  and  brought  a  seat  without  a  back,  but  well 
stuffed,  and  set  it  against  the  wall.  The  old  lady  sat 
down  and  leaned  back,  and  looked  at  Rose  in  silence  a 
good  while  ;  then  she  said,  — 

"  There  is  room  for  you  ;  sit  down,  for  I  want  to  speak 
seriously  to  you." 

"  Yes,  mamma ;  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Turn  a  little  round,  and  let  me  see  your  face." 

Rose  complied ;  and  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  guess  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  put  a  question  to  you." 

"With  all  my  heart,  dear  mamma." 

"  I  invite  you  to  explain  to  me  the  most  singular,  the 
most  unaccountable  thing  that  ever  fell  under  my  notice. 
Will  you  do  this  for  your  mother  ?  " 

"  0  mamma !  of  course  I  will  do  anything  to  please 
you  that  I  can ;  but,  indeed,  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean." 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you." 

The  old  lady  paused.  The  young  one,  naturally 
enough,  felt  a  chill  of  vague  anxiety  strike  across  her 
frame. 

"Rose,"  said  the  old  lady,  speaking  very  gently  but 
firmly,  and  leaning  in  a  peculiar  way  on  her  words,  while 
her  eye  worked  like  an  ice  gimlet  on  her  daughter's  face, 
"a  little  while  ago,  when  my  poor  Raynal  —  our  bene- 
factor—  was  alive  —  and  I  was  happy  —  you  all  chilled 
my  happiness  by  your  gloom  :  the  whole  house  seemed  a 
house  of  mourning  —  tell  me  now  why  was  this." 


whitp:  lies.  231 

''Mamma!"  said  Rose,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
"we  could  hardly  be  gay.  Sickness  in  the  house !  And 
if  Colonel  Raynal  was  alive,  still  he  was  absent,  and  in 
danger." 

"  Oh  !  then  it  was  out  of  regard  for  him  we  were  all 
dispirited  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Rose,  stoutly ;  but  then 
colored  high  at  her  own  want  of  candor.  However,  she 
congratulated  herself  that  her  mother's  suspicion  was 
confined  to  past  events. 

Her  self-congratulation  on  that  score  was  short ;  for 
the  baroness,  after  eying  her  grimly  for  a  second  or  two 
in  silence,  put  her  this  awkward  question  plump. 

"If  so,  tell  me  why  is  it  that  ever  since  that  black  day 
when  the  news  of  his  death  reached  us,  the  whole  house 
has  gone  into  black,  and  has  gone  out  of  mourning  ?  " 

"Mamma,"  stammered  Rose,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

"Even  poor  Camille,  who  was  so  pale  and  wan,  has 
recovered  like  magic." 

"  0  mamma !  is  not  that  fancy  ?  "  said  Rose,  piteously. 
"  Of  what  do  you  suspect  me  ?  Can  you  think  I  am  un- 
feeling—  ungrateful?     I  should  not  be  v/oi<;' daughter." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  baroness,  "to  do  you  justice,  you 
attempt  sorrow ;  as  you  put  on  black.  But,  my  poor 
child,  you  do  it  with  so  little  skill  that  one  sees  a  horri- 
ble gayety  breaking  through  that  thin  disguise  :  you  are 
no  true  mourners :  you  are  like  the  mutes  or  the  under- 
takers at  a  funeral,  forced  grief  on  the  surface  of  your 
faces,  and  frightful  complacency  below." 

"Tra  la!  lal !  la!  la!  Tra  la!  la!  Tra  la!  la!" 
carolled  Jacintha,  in  the  colonel's  room  hard  by. 

The  ladies  looked  at  one  another :  Rose  in  great  con- 
fusion. 

"Tra  la!  la!  la!     Tra  lal !  lal!  la!  la!  la!" 

"Jacintha!"  screamed  Rose  angrily. 


232  WHITE    LIES. 

'■  Hush !  not  a  word,"  said  the  baroness.  "  Why  re- 
monstrate with  her  ?  Servants  are  but  chameleons : 
they  take  the  color  of  those  they  serve.  Do  not  cry.  I 
wanted  your  confidence,  not  your  tears,  love.  There,  I 
will  not  twice  in  one  day  ask  you  for  your  heart:  it 
would  be  to  lower  the  mother,  and  give  the  daughter 
the  pain  of  refusing  it,  and  the  regret,  sure  to  come  one 
day,  of  having  refused  it.  I  will  discover  the  meaning 
of  it  all  by  myself."  She  went  away  with  a  gentle  sigh ; 
and  Rose  was  cut  to  the  heart  by  her  words  ;  she  re- 
solved, whatever  it  might  cost  her  and  Josephine,  to 
make  a  clean  breast  this  very  day.  As  she  was  one  of 
those  who  act  promptly,  she  Avent  instantly  in  search  of 
her  sister,  to  gain  her  consent,  if  possible. 

Now,  the  said  Josephine  was  in  the  garden  walking 
with  Camille,  and  uttering  a  wife's  tender  solicitudes. 

"  And  must  you  leave  me  ?  must  you  risk  your  life 
again  so  soon  ;  the  life  on  which  mine  depends  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  that  letter  I  received  from  headquarters 
two  days  ago,  that  inquiry  whether  my  wound  was  cured. 
A  hint,  Josephine  —  a  hint  too  broad  for  any  soldier  not 
to  take." 

"Camille,  you  are  very  proud,"  said  Josephine,  with 
an  accent  of  reproach,  and  a  look  of  approval. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  be.  I  am  the  husband  of  the  proud- 
est woman  in  France." 

"  Hush  !  not  so  loud :  there  is  Dard  on  the  grass." 

"Dard!"  muttered  the  soldier  with  a  word  of  mean- 
ing. "Josephine,"  said  he  after  a  pause,  and  a  little 
peevishly,  "  how  much  longer  are  we  to  lower  our  voices, 
and  turn  aAvay  our  eyes  from  each  other,  and  be  ashamed 
of  our  happiness  ?  " 

"  Five  months  longer,  is  it  not  ?  "  answered  Josephine 
quietly. 

"  Five  months  longer ! " 


WHITE   LIES.  233 

Josephine  was  hurt  at  this,  and  for  once  was  betrayed 
into  a  serious  and  merited  remonstrance. 

"  Is  this  just  ?  "  said  she.  "  Think  of  two  months 
ago :  yes,  but  two  months  ago,  you  were  dying.  You 
doubted  my  love,  because  it  could  not  overcome  my 
virtue  and  my  gratitude  :  yet  you  might  have  seen  it 
was  destroying  my  life.  Poor  Raynal,  my  husband,  my 
benefactor,  died.  Then  I  could  do  more  for  you,  if  not 
with  delicacy,  at  least  with  honor;  but  no!  words,  and 
looks,  and  tender  offices  of  love  were  not  enough,  I  must 
give  stronger  proof.  Dear  Camille,  I  have  been  reared 
in  a  strict  school :  and  perhaps  none  of  your  sex  can 
know  what  it  cost  me  to  go  to  Frejus  that  day  with  him 
I  love." 

"  My  own  Josephine  !  " 

"  I  made  but  one  condition  :  that  you  would  not  rob 
me  of  my  mother's  respect :  to  her  our  hasty  marriage 
would  appear  monstrous,  heartless.  You  consented  to 
be  secretly  happy  for  six  months.  One  fortnight  has 
passed,  and  you  are  discontented  again." 

"Oh,  no  !  do  not  think  so.  It  is  every  word  true.  I 
am  an  ungrateful  villain." 

"  How  dare  you  say  so  ?  and  to  me  !  No !  but  you 
are  a  man." 

"  So  I  have  been  told  ;  but  my  conduct  to  you,  sweet 
one,  has  not  been  that  of  a  man  from  first  to  last.  Yet 
I  could  die  for  you,  with  a  smile  on  my  lips.  But  when 
I  think  that  once  I  lifted  this  sacrilegious  hand  against 
your  life  —  oh  !  " 

"Do  not  be  silly,  Camille.  I  love  you  all  the  better 
for  loving  me  well  enough  to  kill  me.  What  woman 
would  not  ?  I  tell  you,  you  foolish  thing,  you  are  a 
man :  monseigneur  is  one  of  the  lordly  sex,  that  is 
accustomed  to  have  everything  its  own  way.  iSfy  love, 
in  a  world  that  is  full  of  miserv,  here  are  two  that  are 


234  WHITE  LIES. 

condemned  to  be  secretly  happy  a  few  months  longer : 
a  hard  fate  for  one  of  your  sex,  it  seems :  but  it  is  so 
much  sweeter  than  the  usual  lot  of  mine,  that  really  I 
cannot  share  your  misery,"  and  she  smiled  joyously. 

"Then  share  my  happiness,  my  dear  wife," 

"  I  do  ;  only  mine  is  deep,  not  loud." 

"Why,  Dard  is  gone,  and  we  are  out  of  doors;  will 
the  little  birds  betray  us  ?  " 

"  The  lower  windows  are  open,  and  I  saw  Jacintha  in 
one  of  the  rooms." 

"  Jacintha  ?  we  are  in  awe  of  the  very  servants. 
Well,  if  I  must  not  say  it  loud  I  will  say  it  often,"  and 
putting  his  mouth  to  her  ear,  he  poured  a  burning 
whisper  of  love  into  it  —  "  My  love  !  my  angel !  my 
wife  !  my  wife  !  my  wife  !  " 

She  turned  her  swimming  eyes  on  him. 

"  My  husband  !  "  she  whispered  in  return. 

Rose  came  out,  and  found  them  billing  and  cooing. 
"  You  must  not  be  so  happy,  you  two,"  said  she  authori- 
tatively. 

"How  can  we  help  it  ?  "  asked  Camille. 

"  You  must  and  shall  help  it,  somehow,"  retorted  this 
little  tyrant.  "  Mamma  suspects.  She  has  given  me 
such  a  cross-examination,  my  blood  runs  cold.  No,  on 
second  thoughts,  kiss  her  again,  and  you  may  both  be  as 
happy  as  you  like  ;  for  I  am  going  to  tell  mamma  all, 
and  no  power  on  earth  shall  hinder  me." 

"Rose,"  said  Camille,  "you  are  a  sensible  girl ;  and  I 
always  said  so." 

But  Josephine  was  horrified.  "What !  tell  my  mother 
that  within  a  month  of  my  husband's  death  ?  "  — 

"  Don't  say  your  husband,"  put  in  Camille  wincing ; 
"  the  priest  never  confirmed  that  union  ;  words  spoken 
before  a  magistrate  do  not  make  a  marriage  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven." 


WHITE   LIES.  235 

Josephine  cut  him  short.  "  Amongst  lionorable  men 
and  women  all  oaths  are  alike  sacred  :  and  Heaven's  eye 
is  in  a  magistrate's  room  as  in  a  church.  A  daughter  of 
Beaurepaire  gave  her  hand  to  him,  and  called  herself  his 
wife.  Therefore,  she  was  his  wife  :  and  is  his  widow. 
She  owes  him  everything ;  the  house  you  are  all  living 
in  among  the  rest.  She  ought  to  be  proud  of  her  brief 
connection  with  that  pure,  heroic  spirit,  and,  when  she 
is  so  little  noble  as  to  disown  him,  then  say  that  grati- 
tude and  justice  have  no  longer  a  place  among  mankind." 

"Come  into  the  chapel,"  said  Camille,  with  a  voice 
that  showed  he  was  hurt. 

They  entered  the  chapel,  and  there  they  saw  some- 
thing that  thoroughly  surprised  them :  a  marble  monu- 
ment to  the  memory  of  Raynal.  It  leaned  at  present 
against  the  wall  below  the  place  prepared  to  receive  it. 
The  inscription,  short,  but  emphatic,  and  full  of  feeling, 
told  of  the  battles  he  had  fought  in,  including  the  last 
fatal  skirmish,  and  his  marriage  with  the  heiress  of 
Beaurepaire ;  and,  in  a  few  soldier-like  Avords,  the 
uprightness,  simplicity,  and  generosity  of  his  character. 

They  were  so  touched  by  this  unexpected  trait  in 
Camille  that  they  both  threw  their  arms  round  his 
neck  by  one  impulse.  "  Am  1  wrong  to  be  proud  of 
him  ?  "  said  Josephine,  triumphantly. 

"  Well,  don't  say  too  much  to  me,"  said  Camille,  look- 
ing down  confused.  '-  One  tries  to  be  good ;  but  it  is 
very  hard  —  to  some  of  us  —  not  to  you,  Josephine  ;  and, 
after  all,  it  is  only  the  truth  that  we  have  written  on 
that  stone.  Poor  Raynal !  he  was  my  old  comrade  ;  he 
saved  me  from  death,  and  not  a  soldier's  death  — 
drowning ;  and  he  was  a  better  man  than  I  am,  or  ever 
shall  be.  Now  he  is  dead,  I  can  say  these  things.  If  I 
had  said  them  when  he  was  alive,  it  would  have  been 
more  to  my  credit." 


236  WHITE    LIES. 

They  all  three  went  back  towards  the  house ;  and  on 
the  way  Rose  told  them  all  that  had  passed  between  the 
baroness  and  her.  When  she  came  to  the  actual  details 
of  that  conversation,  to  the  words,  and  looks,  and  tones, 
Josephine's  uneasiness  rose  to  an  overpowering  height ; 
she  even  admitted  that  further  concealment  would  be 
very  difficult. 

"Better  tell  her  than  let  her  find  out,"  said  Rose. 
"  We  must  tell  her  some  day." 

At  last,  after  a  long  and  agitated  discussion,  Josephine 
consented  ;  but  Rose  must  be  the  one  to  tell.  "  So  then, 
you  at  least  will  make  your  peace  with  mamma,"  argued 
Josephine,  "and  let  us  go  in  and  do  this  before  our 
courage  fails ;  besides,  it  is  going  to  rain,  and  it  has 
turned  cold.  Where  have  all  these  clouds  come  from  ? 
An  hour  ago  there  was  not  one  in  the  sky." 

They  went,  with  hesitating  steps  and  guilty  looks,  to 
the  saloon.  Their  mother  was  not  there.  Here  was  a 
reprieve. 

Rose  had  an  idea.  She  would  take  her  to  the  chapel, 
and  show  her  the  monument,  and  that  would  please  her 
with  poor  Camille.  "After  that,"  said  Rose,  "I  will 
begin  by  telling  her  all  the  misery  you  have  both  gone 
through ;  and,  when  she  pities  you,  then  I  will  show  her 
it  was  all  my  fault  your  misery  ended  in  a  secret  mar- 
riage." 

The  confederates  sat  there  in  a  chilly  state,  waiting 
for  the  baroness.  At  last,  as  she  did  not  come.  Rose 
got  up  to  go  to  her.  "  When  the  mind  is  made  up,  it  is 
no  use  being  cowardly,  and  putting  off,"  said  she,  firmly. 
For  all  that,  her  cheek  had  but  little  color  left  in  it, 
when  she  left  her  chair  with  this  resolve. 

Now  as  Rose  went  down  the  long  saloon  to  carry  out 
their  united  resolve,  Jacintha  looked  in  ;  and,  after  a 
hasty  glance  to  see  who  was  present,  she  waited  till 


WHITE   LIES.  237 

Rose  came  up  to  her,  and  then  whipped  a  letter  from 
under  her  apron  and  gave  it  her. 

"  For  my  mistress,"  said  she,  with  an  air  of  mystery. 

"  Why  not  take  it  to  her,  then  ?  "  inquired  Rose. 

"  I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  it  first,  mademoi- 
selle," said  Jacintha,  with  quiet  meaning. 

"  Is  it  from  the  dear  doctor  ?  "  asked  Josephine. 

"  La,  no,  mademoiselle,  don't  you  know  the  doctor  is 
come  home  ?  Why,  he  has  been  in  the  house  near  an 
hour.     He  is  with  my  lady." 

The  doctor  proved  Jacintha  correct  by  entering  the 
room  in  person  soon  after ;  on  this  Rose  threw  down  the 
letter,  and  she  and  the  whole  party  were  instantly 
occupied  in  greeting  him. 

When  the  ladies  had  embraced  him  and  Camille 
shaken  hands  with  him,  they  plied  him  with  a  thousand 
questions.  Indeed,  he  had  not  half  satisfied  their 
curiosity,  when  Rose  happened  to  catch  sight  of  the 
letter  again,  and  took  it  up  to  carry  to  the  baroness. 
She  now,  for  the  first  time,  eyed  it  attentively,  and  the 
consequence  was  she  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  took 
the  first  opportunity  to  beckon  Aubertin. 

He  came  to  her ;  and  she  put  the  letter  into  his  hand. 

He  put  up  his  glasses,  and  eyed  it.  "  Yes ! "  whispered 
he,  "  it  is  from  him." 

Josephine  and  Camille  saw  something  was  going  on ; 
they  joined  the  other  two,  with  curiosity  in  their  faces. 

Rose  put  her  hand  on  a  small  table  near  her,  and 
leaned  a  moment.  She  turned  half  sick  at  a  letter  com- 
ing from  the  dead.  Josephine  now  came  towards  lier 
with  a  face  of  concern,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

The  reply  came  from  Aubertin.  "  My  poor  friends," 
said  he,  solemnly,  "  this  is  one  of  those  fearful  things 
that  you  have  not  seen  in  your  short  lives,  but  it  has 
been  more  than  once  my  lot  to  witness  it.     The  ships 


238  WHITK   LIES. 

tliat  carry  letters  from  distant  countries  vary  greatly  in 
speed,  and  are  subject  to  detaining  accidents.  Yes,  this 
is  the  third  time  I  have  seen  a  letter  come  written  by  a 
hand  known  to  be  cold.  The  baroness  is  a  little  excited 
to-day,  I  don't  know  from  what  cause.  With  your  appro- 
bation, Madame  Kaynal,  I  will  read  this  letter  before  I 
let  her  see  it." 

"  Read  it,  if  you  please." 

"  Shall  I  read  it  out  ?  " 

"Certainly.  There  may  be  some  wish  expressed  in 
it ;  oh,  I  hope  there  is  !  " 

Camille,  from  delicacy,  retired  to  some  little  distance, 
and  the  doctor  read  the  letter  in  a  low  and  solemn  voice. 

"]\Iy  dear  Mother,  —  I  hope  all  are  well  at  Beaurepah-e, 
as  I  am,  or  1  hope  soon  to  be.  1  received  a  wound  in  our 
last  skirmish ;  not  a  very  severe  one ;  but  it  put  an  end  to 
my  writing  for  some  time." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  it  was  his  death  wound.  Why,  when 
was  this  written  ?  —  why,"  and  the  doctor  paused,  and 
seemed  stupefied  :  "  why,  my  dears,  has  my  memory 
gone,  or  "  —  and  again  he  looked  eagerly  at  the  letter 
— "  what  was  the  date  of  the  battle  in  which  he  was 
killed  ?  for  this  letter  is  dated  the  15th  of  May.  Is  it 
a  dream  ?  no  !  this  was  written  since  the  date  of  his 
death." 

"No,  doctor,"  said  Rose,  "you  deceive  yourself." 
"  Why,  what  was  the   date  of  the  Moniteur,  then  ?  " 
asked  Aubertin,  in  great  agitation. 

"  Considerably  later  than  this,"  said  Camille. 
"  I  don't  think  so  ;  the  journal !  where  is  it  ?  " 
"  My  mother  has  it  locked  up.     I'll  run." 
"  No,  Rose  ;  no  one  but  me.     Now,  Josephine,  do  not 
you  go  and  give  way  to  hopes  that  may  be  delusive.     I 


WHITE   LIES.  239 

must  see  that  journal  directly.  I  will  go  to  the  baroness. 
I  shall  excuse  her  less  than  you  would." 

He  was  scarcely  gone  when  a  cry  of  horror  filled  the 
room,  a  cry  as  of  madness  falling  like  a  thunderbolt  on 
a  human  mind.  It  Avas  Josephine,  who  up  to  this  had 
not  uttered  one  word.  But  now  she  stood,  white  as  a 
corpse,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  wrung  her  hands. 
"  What  have  I  done  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  It  was  the 
3d  of  May.  I  see  it  before  me  in  letters  of  fire  ;  the  3d 
of  May  !  the  3d  of  May  !  —  and  he  writes  the  15th." 

"No!  no!"  cried  Camille  wildly.  "It  was  long, 
long  after  the  3d." 

"  It  was  the  3d  of  May,"  repeated  Josephine  in  a 
hoarse  voice  that  none  would  have  known  for  hers. 

Camille  ran  to  her  with  words  of  comfort  and  hope  ; 
he  did  not  share  her  fears.  He  remembered  about  when 
the  Moniteur  came,  though  not  the  very  day.  He  threw 
his  arm  lovingly  round  her  as  if  to  protect  her  against 
these  shadowy  terrors.  Her  dilating  eyes  seemed  fixed 
on  something  distant  in  space  or  time,  at  some  horrible 
thing  coming  slowly  towards  her.  She  did  not  see 
Camille  approach  her,  but  the  moment  she  felt  him  she 
turned  upon  him  swiftly. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  still  in  the  hoarse  voice  that  had 
so  little  in  it  of  Josephine.  "  I  mean,  does  one  grain  of 
respect  or  virtue  mingle  in  your  love  for  me  ?  " 

"  What  words  are  these,  my  wife  ?  " 

"Then  leave  Raynal's  house  upon  the  instant.  You 
wonder  I  can  be  so  cruel  ?  I  wonder  too ;  and  that  I 
can  see  my  duty  so  clear  in  one  short  moment.  But 
I  have  lived  twenty  years  since  that  letter  came.  Oh ! 
my  brain  has  whirled  through  a  thousand  agonies.  And 
I  have  come  back  a  thousand  times  to  the  same  thing; 
you  and  I  must  see  each  other's  face  no  more." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Rose,  "  is  there  no  way  but  this  ?  " 


240  WHITE    LIES. 

"  Take  care,"  she  screamed,  wildly,  to  her  and  Camille, 
"  I  am  on  the  verge  of  madness ;  is  it  for  you  two  to 
thrust  me  over  the  precipice  ?  Come,  now,  if  you  are 
a  man  of  honor,  if  you  have  a  spark  of  gratitude  towards 
the  poor  woman  who  has  given  you  all  except  her  fair 
name — that  she  will  take  to  the  grave  in  spite  of  you  all 
—  promise  that  you  will  leave  Raynal's  house  this  minute 
if  he  is  alive,  and  let  me  die  in  honor  as  I  have  lived." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Camille,  terror-stricken ;  "  it  cannot 
be.  Heaven  is  merciful,  and  Heaven  sees  how  happy 
we  are.  Be  calm  !  these  are  idle  fears ;  be  calm  !  I  say. 
For  if  it  is  so  I  will  obey  you.  I  will  stay ;  I  will  go ; 
I  will  die ;  I  will  live ;  I  will  obey  you." 

"  Swear  this  to  me  by  the  thing  you  hold  most  sacred," 
she  almost  shrieked. 

"  I  swear  by  my  love  for  you,"  was  his  touching  reply. 

Ere  they  had  recovered  a  miserable  composure  after 
this  passionate  outburst,  all  the  more  terrible  as  coming 
from  a  creature  so  tender  as  Josephine,  agitated  voices 
were  heard  at  the  door,  and  the  baroness  tottered  in,  fol- 
lowed by  the  doctor,  who  was  trying  in  vain  to  put  some 
bounds  to  her  emotion  and  her  hopes. 

"Oh,  my  children !  my  children ! "  cried  she,  trembling 
violently.  "  Here,  Rose,  my  hands  shake  so ;  take  this 
key,  open  the  cabinet,  there  is  the  Moniteur.  What  is 
the  date  ?  " 

The  journal  was  found,  and  rapidly  examined.  The 
date  was  the  20th  of  May. 

"  There  !  "  cried  Camille.     "  I  told  you ! " 

The  baroness  uttered  a  feeble  moan.  Her  hopes  died 
as  suddenly  as  they  had  been  born,  and  she  sank  droop- 
ing into  a  chair,  with  a  bitter  sigh. 

Camille  stole  a  joyful  look  at  Josephine.  She  was  in 
the  same  attitude  looking  straight  before  her  as  at  a 
coming  horror.  Presently  Rose  uttered  a  faint  cry,  "  The 
battle  was  beforey  _ 


WHITE   LIES.  241 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  the  doctor.  "You  forget,  it  is  not 
the  date  of  the  paper  we  want,  but  of  the  battle  it 
records.     For  Heaven's  sake,  when  was  the  battle  ?  " 

"The  3d  of  May,"  said  Josephine,  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  tomb. 

Kose's  hands  that  held  the  journal  fell  like  a  dead 
weight  upon  her  knees,  journal  and  all.  She  whispered, 
"  It  was  the  3d  of  May." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  the  baroness,  starting  up,  "  he  may  yet  be 
alive.  He  must  be  alive.  Heaven  is  merciful !  Heaven 
would  not  take  my  son  from  me,  a  poor  old  woman  who 
has  not  long  to  live.  There  was  a  letter ;  where  is  the 
letter  ?  " 

"  Are  we  mad,  not  to  read  the  letter  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 
"  I  had  it ;  it  has  dropped  from  my  old  fingers  when  I 
went  for  the  journal." 

A  short  examination  of  the  room  showed  the  letter 
lying  crumpled  up  near  the  door.  Camille  gave  it  to  the 
baroness.     She  tried  to  read  it,  but  could  not. 

"'  I  am  old,"  said  she ;  "  my  hand  shakes  and  my  eyes 
are  troubled.  This  young  gentleman  will  read  it  to  us. 
His  eyes  are  not  dim  and  troubled.  Something  tells  me 
that  when  /  hear  this  letter,  I  shall  find  out  whether  my 
son  lives.  Why  do  you  not  read  it  to  me,  Camille?" 
cried  she,  almost  fiercely. 

Camille,  thus  pressed,  obeyed  mechanically,  and  began 
to  read  Raynal's  letter  aloud,  scarce  knowing  what  he 
did,  but  urged  and  driven  by  the  baroness. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  — I  hope  all  are  well  at  Beaurepaire, 
as  I  am,  or  I  hope  soon  to  be.  I  received  a  wound  in  our  last 
skirmish ;  not  a  vei-y  severe  one,  but  it  put  an  end  to  my  writ- 
ing for  some  time." 

"Go  on,  dear  Camille  !  go  on." 
"The  page  ends  there,  madame." 
16 


242  WHITE   LIES. 

The  paper  was  thin,  and  Cainille,  whose  hand  trembled, 
had  some  difficulty  in  detaching  the  leaves  from  one 
another.  He  succeeded,  however,  at  last,  and  went  on 
reading  and  writhing. 

"  By  the  way,  you  must  address  your  next  letter  to  me  as 
Colonel  Kaynal.  I  was  promoted  just  before  this  last  affair, 
but  had  not  time  to  tell  you;  and  my  wound  stopped  my  writ- 
ing till  now." 

"  There,  there ! "  cried  the  baroness.  "  He  was  Colonel 
Kaynal,  and  Colonel  Raynal  was  not  killed." 

The  doctor  implored  her  not  to  interrupt. 

"Go  on,  Camille.  Why  do  you  hesitate?  what  is  the 
matter  ?     Do  for  pity's  sake  go  on,  sir." 

Camille  cast  a  look  of  agony  around,  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  brow,  on  which  large  drops  of  cold  perspiration,  like 
a  death  dew,  were  gathering;  but  driven  to  the  stake  on 
all  sides,  he  gasped  on  rather  than  read,  for  his  eye  had 
gone  down  the  page. 

"  A  namesake  of  mine,  Commandant  Raynal,"  — 
"Ah!" 
"  has  not  been  —  so  fortunate.     He  "  — 

"  Go  on  !  go  on !  " 

The  wretched  man  could  now  scarcely  utter  Raynal's 
words ;  they  came  from  him  in  a  choking  groan. 

"  he  was  killed,  poor  fellow !  while  heading  a  gallant  charge 
ui)on  the  enemy''s  flank." 

He  ground  the  letter  convulsively  in  his  hand,  then  it 
fell  all  crumpled  on  the  floor. 

"Bless  you,  Camille  !"  cried  the  baroness,  "bless  you! 
bless  you  !     I  have  a  son  still." 

She  stooped  with  difficulty,  took  up  the  letter,  and, 


WHITE    LIES.  243 

kissing  it  again  and  again,  fell  on  her  knees,  and  thanked 
Heaven  aloud  before  them  all.  Then  she  rose  and  went 
hastily  out,  and  her  voice  was  heard  crying  very  loud, 
''  Jacintha !  Jacintha !  " 

The  doctor  followed  in  considerable  anxiety  for  the 
effects  of  this  violent  joy  on  so  aged  a  person.  Three 
remained  behind,  panting  and  pale  like  those  to  whom 
dead  Lazarus  burst  the  tomb,  and  came  forth  in  a  moment, 
at  a  word.  Then  Camille  half  kneeled,  half  fell,  at 
Josephine's  feet,  and,  in  a  voice  choked  with  sobs,  bade 
her  dispose  of  him. 

She  turned  her  head  away.  "  Do  not  speak  to  me ;  do 
not  look  at  me ;  if  we  look  at  one  another,  we  are  lost. 
Go  !  die  at  your  post,  and  I  at  mine." 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  kissed  her  dress,  then  rose 
calm  as  despair,  and  white  as  death,  and,  with  his  knees 
knocking  under  him,  tottered  away  like  a  corpse  set 
moving. 

He  disappeared  from  the  house. 

The  baroness  soon  came  back,  triumphant  and  gay. 

"  I  have  sent  her  to  bid  them  ring  the  bells  in  the 
village.  The  poor  shall  be  feasted ;  all  shall  share  our 
joy  :  my  son  was  dead,  and  lives.     Oh,  joy  !  joy  !  joy  !" 

"  Mother !  "  shrieked  Josephine. 

"  Mad  woman  that  I  am,  I  am  too  boisterous.  Help 
me.  Rose  !  she  is  going  to  faint ;  her  lips  are  white." 

Dr.  Aubertin  and  Rose  brought  a  chair.  They  forced 
Josephine  into  it.  She  was  not  the  least  faint ;  yet  her 
body  obeyed  their  hands  just  like  a  dead  body.  The 
baroness  melted  into  tears ;  tears  streamed  from  Rose's 
eyes.  Josephine's  were  dry  and  stony,  and  fixed  on 
coming  horror.  The  baroness  looked  at  her  with  anxiety. 
"  Thoughtless  old  woman  !  It  was  too  sudden  ;  it  is  too 
much  for  my  dear  child;  too  much  for  me,"  and  she 
kneeled,  and  laid  her  aged  head  on  her  daughter's  bosom, 


244  WHITE    LIES. 

saying  feebly  through  her  tears,  "  too  much  joy,  too  much 

joy!" 

Josephine  took  no  notice  of  her.  She  sat  like  one 
turned  to  stone  looking  far  away  over  her  mother's 
head  with  rigid  eyes  fixed  on  the  air  and  on  coming 
horrors. 

Kose  felt  her  arm  seized.  It  was  Aubertin.  He  too 
was  pale  noAv,  though  not  before.  He  spoke  in  a  terrible 
whisper  to  Rose,  his  eye  fixed  on  the  woman  of  stone 
that  sat  there. 

"Is    THIS   JOY  ?  " 

Rose,  by  a  mighty  effort,  raised  her  eyes  and  confronted 
his  full.     "  What  else  should  it  be  ?  "  said  she. 

And  with  these  words  this  Spartan  girl  was  her  sister's 
champion  once  more  against  all  comers,  friend  or  foe. 


WHITE   LIES.  245 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Dr.  Aubertin  received  one  day  a  note  from  a  publish- 
ing bookseller,  to  inquire  whether  he  still  thought  of 
giving  the  world  his  valuable  work  on  insects.  The 
doctor  was  amazed.  "  My  valuable  work  !  Why,  Rose, 
they  all  refused  it,  and  this  person  in  particular  recoiled 
from  it  as  if  my  insects  could  sting  on  paper." 

The  above  led  to  a  correspondence,  in  which  the  convert 
to  insects  explained  that  the  work  must  be  published  at 
the  author's  expense,  the  publisher  contenting  himself 
with  the  profits.  The  author,  thirsting  for  the  public, 
consented.  Then  the  publisher  wrote  again  to  say 
that  the  immortal  treatise  must  be  spiced  ;  a  little  poli- 
tics flung  in  :  "  Kothing  goes  down,  else."  The  author 
answered  in  some  heat  that  he  would  not  dilute  things 
everlasting  with  the  fleeting  topics  of  the  day,  nor  defile 
science  with  politics.  On  this  his  IVfentor  smoothed 
him  down,  despising  him  secretly  for  not  seeing  that  a 
book  is  a  matter  of  trade  and  nothing  else.  It  ended  in 
Aubertin  going  to  Paris  to  hatch  his  Phoenix.  He  had 
not  been  there  a  week,  when  a  small  deputation  called  on 
him,  and  informed  him  he  had  been  elected  honorary 
member  of  a  certain  scientific  society.  The  compliment 
was  followed  by  others,  till  at  last  certain  ladies,  with 
the  pliancy  of  their  sex,  find  out  they  had  always  secretly 
cared  for  butterflies.  Then  the  naturalist  smelt  a  rat,  or, 
in  other  words,  began  to  scent  that  entomology,  a  form 
of  idiocy  in  a  poor  man,  is  a  graceful  decoration  of  the 
intellect  in  a  rich  one. 

Philosopher  without  bile,  he  saw  through  this,  and  let 


246  WHITE   LIES. 

it  amuse,  not  shock  him.  His  own  species,  a  singularly 
interesting  one  in  my  opinion,  had  another  trait  in  reserve 
for  him. 

He  took  a  world  of  trouble  to  find  out  the  circum- 
stances of  his  nephew's  nephews  and  nieces :  then  he 
made  arrangements  for  distributing  a  large  part  of  his 
legacy  among  them.  His  intentions  and  the  proportions 
of  his  generosity  transpired. 

Hitherto  they  had  been  silent,  but  now  they  all  fell- 
to  and  abused  him  :  each  looking  only  to  the  amount  of 
his  individual  share,  not  at  the  sum  total  the  doctor  was 
giving  way  to  an  ungrateful  lot. 

The  donor  was  greatly  amused,  and  noted  down  the 
incident  and  some  of  the  remarks  in  his  commonplace 
book,  under  the  general  head  of  "  Bestiarium ;  "  and  the 
particular  head  of  "  Homo." 

Paris  with  its  seductions  netted  the  good  doctor,  and 
held  him  two  or  three  months  ;  would  have  detained  him 
longer,  but  for  alarming  accounts  the  baroness  sent  of 
Josephine's  health.  These  determined  him  to  return  to 
Beaurepaire  ;  and,  must  I  own  it,  the  announcement  was 
no  longer  hailed  at  Beaurepaire  with  universal  joy  as 
heretofore. 

Josephine  Raynal,  late  Dujardin,  is  by  this  time  no 
stranger  to  my  intelligent  reader.  I  wish  him  to  bring 
his  knowledge  of  her  character  and  her  sensibility  to  my 
aid.  Imagine,  as  the  weary  hours  and  days  and  weeks 
roll  over  her  head,  what  this  loving  woman  feels  for  her 
lover  whom  she  has  dismissed ;  what  this  grateful  wife 
feels  for  the  benefactor  she  has  unwittingly  wronged  ; 
but  will  never  wrong  with  her  eyes  open ;  what  this  lady 
pure  as  snow,  and  proud  as  fire,  feels  at  the  seeming 
frailty  into  which  a  cruel  combination  of  circumstances 
has  entrapped  her. 


WHITE   LIES.  247 

Put  down  the  book  a  moment :  shut  your  eyes :  and 
imagine  this  strange  and  complicated  form  of  human 
suffering. 

Her  mental  sufferings  were  terrible ;  and  for  some 
time  Eose  feared  for  her  reason.  At  last  her  agonies 
subsided  into  a  listlessness  and  apathy  little  less  alarm- 
ing. She  seemed  a  creature  descending  inch  by  inch 
into  the  tomb.  Indeed,  I  fully  believe  she  would  have 
died  of  despair:  but  one  of  nature's  greatest  forces 
stepped  into  the  arena  and  fought  on  the  side  of  life. 
She  was  affected  with  certain  bilious  symptoms  that 
added  to  Rose's  uneasiness,  but  Jacintha  assured  her  it 
was  nothing,  and  would  retire  and  leave  the  sufferer 
better.  Jacintha,  indeed,  seemed  now  to  take  a  particu- 
lar interest  in  Josephine,  and  was  always  about  her  with 
looks  of  pity  and  interest. 

"  Good  creature  !  "  thought  Rose,  "  she  sees  my  sister 
is  unhappy :  and  that  makes  her  more  attentive  and 
devoted  to  her  than  ever." 

One  day  these  three  were  together  in  Josephine's 
room.  Josephine  was  mechauically  combing  her  long 
hair,  when  all  of  a  sudden  she  stretched  out  her  hand 
and  cried,  "  Rose  !  " 

Rose  ran  to  her,  and  coming  behind  her  saw  in  the 
glass  that  her  lips  were  colorless.  She  screamed  to 
Jacintha,  and  between  them  they  supported  Josephine 
to  the  bed.  She  had  hardly  touched  it  when  she  fainted 
dead  away.  "  IVlamma !  mamma ! "  cried  Rose  in  her 
terror. 

"  Hush  ! "  cried  Jacintha  roughly,  "  hold  your  tongue  : 
it  is  only  a  faint.  Help  me  loosen  her :  don't  make  any 
noise,  whatever."  They  loosened  her  stays,  and  applied 
the  usual  remedies,  but  it  was  some  time  before  she 
came-to.  At  last  the  color  came  back  to  her  lips,  then  to 
her  cheek,  and  the  light  to  her  eye.     She  smiled  feebly 


248  WHITE   LIES. 

on  Jacintha  and  Rose,  and  asked  if  she  had  not  been 
insensible, 

"  Yes,  love,  and  frightened  us — a  little  —  not  much  — 
oh,  dear !  oh,  dear ! " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  sweet  one,  I  am  better.  And  I 
will  never  do  it  again,  since  it  frightens  you,"  Then 
Josephine  said  to  her  sister  in  a  low  voice,  and  in  the 
Italian  language,  "  I  hoped  it  was  death,  my  sister ;  but 
he  comes  not  to  the  wretched," 

"  If  you  hoped  that,"  replied  Rose  in  the  same  lan- 
guage, "you  do  not  love  your  poor  sister  who  so  loves 
you." 

While  the  Italian  was  going  on,  Jacintha's  dark  eyes 
glanced  suspiciously  on  each  speaker  in  turn.  But  her 
suspicions  were  all  wide  of  the  mark, 

"  Now  may  I  go  and  tell  mamma  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"No,  mademoiselle,  you  shall  not,"  said  Jacintha. 
"  Madame  Raynal,  do  take  my  side,  and  forbid  her," 

"  Why,  what  is  it  to  you  ?  "  said  Rose,  haughtily. 

"  If  it  was  not  something  to  me,  should  I  thwart  my 
dear  young  lady  ?  " 

"  No.  And  you  shall  have  your  own  way,  if  you  will 
but  condescend  to  give  me  a  reason." 

This  to  some  of  us  might  appear  reasonable,  but  not  to 
Jacintha  :  it  even  hurt  her  feelings. 

"  Mademoiselle  Rose,"  she  said,  "  when  you  were  little 
and  used  to  ask  me  for  anything,  did  I  ever  say  to  you, 
*  Give  me  a  reason  first '  ?  " 

"  There  !  she  is  right,"  said  Josephine.  "  We  should 
not  make  terms  Avith  tried  friends.  Come,  we  will  pay 
her  devotion  this  compliment.  It  is  such  a  small  favor. 
For  my  part  I  feel  obliged  to  her  for  asking  it." 

Josephine's  health  improved  steadily  from  that  day. 
Her  hollow  cheeks  recovered  their  plump  smoothness, 
and  her  beauty  its  bloom^  and  her  person  grew  more 


"WHITE   LIES.  249 

noble  and  statue-like  than  ever,  and  within  she  felt  a 
sense  of  indomitable  vitality.  Her  appetite  had  for 
some  time  been  excessively  feeble  and  uncertain,  and 
her  food  tasteless  ;  but  of  late,  by  what  she  conceived  to 
be  a  reaction  such  as  is  common  after  youth  has  shaken 
off  a  long  sickness,  her  appetite  had  been  not  only 
healthy  but  eager.  The  baroness  observed  this,  and  it 
relieved  her  of  a  large  portion  of  her  anxiety.  One 
day  at  dinner  her  maternal  heart  was  so  pleased  with 
Josephine's  performance  that  she  took  it  as  a  personal 
favor.  "Well  done,  Josephine,"  said  she;  "that  gives 
your  mother  pleasure  to  see  you  eat  again.  Soup  and 
bouillon :  and  now  twice  you  have  been  to  Eose  for  some 
of  that  2^ute,  which  does  you  so  much  credit,  Jacintha." 

Josephine  colored  high  at  this  compliment. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  she,  "  I  eat  like  a  pig ; "  and,  with  a 
furtive  glance  at  the  said  pate,  she  laid  down  her  knife 
and  fork,  and  ate  no  more  of  anything.  The  baroness 
had  now  a  droll  misgiving. 

"The  doctor  will  be  angry  with  me,"  said  she  :  "he 
will  find  her  as  well  as  ever." 

"  Madame,"  said  Jacintha  hastily,  "  when  does  the  doc- 
tor come,  if  I  may  make  so  bold,  that  I  may  get  his 
room  ready,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Well  thought  of,  Jacintha.  He  comes  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  in  the  afternoon." 

At  night  when  the  young  ladies  went  up  to  bed,  what 
did  they  find  but  a  little  cloth  laid  on  a  little  table  in 
Josephine's  room,  and  the  remains  of  the  pate  she  had 
liked.  Rose  burst  out  laughing.  "Look  at  that  dear 
duck  of  a  goose,  Jacintha !  Our  mother's  flattery  sank 
deep :  she  thinks  we  can  eat  her  jmtes  at  all  hours  of 
the  day  and  night.     Shall  I  send  it  away  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Josephine,  "that  would  hurt  her  culinary 
pride,  and  perhaps  her  affection :  only  cover  it  up,  dear, 


250  WHITE   LIES. 

for  just  now  I  am  not  in  the  humor :  it  rather  turns 
me." 

It  was  covered  up.  The  sisters  retired  to  rest.  In 
the  morning  Rose  lifted  the  cover  and  found  the  plate 
cleared,  polished.     She  was  astounded. 

The  large  tapestried  chamber,  once  occupied  by  Camille 
Dujardin,  was  now  turned  into  a  sitting-room,  and  it  was 
a  favorite  on  account  of  the  beautiful  view  from  the 
windows. 

One  day  Josephine  sat  there  alone  with  some  work  in 
her  hand ;  but  the  needle  often  stopped,  and  the  fair 
head  drooped.  She  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  To  her  sur- 
prise it  was  echoed  by  a  sigh  that,  like  her  own,  seemed 
to  come  from  a  heart  full  of  sighs. 

She  turned  hastily  round  and  saw  Jacintha. 

Now  Josephine  had  all  a  woman's  eye  for  reading 
faces,  and  she  was  instantly  struck  by  a  certain  gravity 
in  Jacintha's  gaze,  and  a  flutter  which  the  young  woman 
was  suppressing  with  tolerable  but  not  complete  success. 

Disguising  the  uneasiness  this  discovery  gave  her,  she 
looked  her  visitor  full  in  the  face,  and  said  mildly,  but  a 
little  coldly,  "  Well,  Jacintha  ?  " 

Jacintha  lowered  her  eyes  and  muttered  slowly,  — 

"  The  doctor  —  comes  —  to-day,"  then  raised  her  eyes 
all  in  a  moment  to  take  Josephine  off  her  guard ;  but 
the  calm  face  was  impenetrable.  So  then  Jacintha 
added,  "  to  our  misfortune,"  throwing  in  still  more 
meaning. 

"  To  our  misfortune  ?    A  dear  old  friend  —  like  him  ?  " 

Jacintha  explained.  "  That  old  man  makes  me  shake. 
You  are  never  safe  with  him.  So  long  as  his  head  is 
in  the  clouds,  you  might  take  his  shoes  off,  and  on  he'd 
walk  and  never  know  it;  but  every  now  and  then  he 
comes  out  of  the  clouds  all  in  one  moment,  without  a 
word  of  warning,  and  when  he  does  his  eye  is  on  every- 


WHITE   LIES.  251 

thing,  like  a  bird's.  Then  he  is  so  old  :  ho  has  seen  a 
heap.  Take  my  Avord  for  it,  tlie  old  are  more  knowing 
than  the  young,  let  them  be  as  sharp  as  you  like :  the 
old  have  seen  everything.  We  have  only  heard  talk  of 
the  most  part,  with  here  and  there  a  glimpse.  To  know 
life  to  the  bottom  you  must  live  it  out,  from  the  soup  to 
the  dessert ;  and  that  is  what  the  doctor  has  done,  and 
now  he  is  coming  here.  And  Mademoiselle  Rose  will  go 
telling  him  everything ;  and  if  she  tells  him  half  what 
she  has  seen,  your  secret  will  be  no  secret  to  that  old 
man." 

"My  secret!"  gasped  Josephine,  turning  pale. 

"  Don't  look  so,  madame  :  don't  be  frightened  at  poor 
Jacintha.  Sooner  or  later  you  vuist  trust  somebody 
besides  Mademoiselle  Rose." 

Josephine  looked  at  her  with  inquiring,  frightened 
eyes. 

Jacintha  drew  nearer  to  her. 

"  Mademoiselle,  —  I  beg  pardon,  madame,  —  I  carried 
you  in  my  arms  when  I  was  a  child.  When  I  was  a  girl 
you  toddled  at  my  side,  and  held  my  gown,  and  lisped 
my  name,  and  used  to  put  your  little  arms  round  my 
neck,  and  kissed  me,  you  would  ;  and  if  ever  I  had  the 
least  pain  or  sickness  your  dear  little  face  would  turn  as 
sorrowful,  and  all  the  pretty  color  leave  it  for  Jacintha ; 
and  now  you  are  in  trouble,  in  sore  trouble,  yet  you  turn 
away  from  me,  you  dare  not  trust  me,  that  would  be  cut 
in  pieces  ere  I  would  betray  you.  Ah,  mademoiselle, 
you  are  wrong.  The  poor  can  feel :  they  have  all  seen 
trouble,  and  a  servant  is  the  best  of  friends  where  she 
has  the  heart  to  love  her  mistress ;  and  do  not  I  love 
you  ?  Pray  do  not  turn  from  her  who  has  carried  you 
in  her  arms,  and  laid  you  to  sleep  upon  her  bosom, 
many's  and  many's  the  time." 

Josephine  panted  audibly.     She  held   out   her  hand 


252  WHITE  LIES. 

eloquently  to  Jacintlia,  but  she  turned  her  head  away 
and  trembled. 

Jacintha  cast  a  hasty  glance  round  the  room.  Then 
she  trembled  too  at  what  she  was  going  to  say,  and  the 
effect  it  might  have  on  the  young  lady.  As  for  Joseph- 
ine, terrible  as  the  conversation  had  become,  she  made 
no  attempt  to  evade  it :  she  remained  perfectly  passive. 
It  was  the  best  way  to  learn  how  far  Jacintha  had  pene- 
trated her  secret,  if  at  all. 

Jacintha  looked  fearfully  round  and  whispered  in 
Josephine's  ear,  ''When  the  news  of  Colonel  Raynal's 
death  came,  you  wept,  but  the  color  came  back  to  your 
cheek.  When  the  news  of  his  life  came,  you  turned  to 
stone.  Ah  !  my  poor  young  lady,  there  has  been  more 
between  you  and  that  man  than  should  be.  Ever  since 
one  day  you  all  went  to  Frejus  together,  you  were  a 
changed  woman.  I  have  seen  you  look  at  him  as  —  as 
a  wife  looks  at  her  man.     I  have  seen  him  "  — 

"  Hush,  Jacintha  !  Do  not  tell  me  what  you  have  seen : 
oh  !  do  not  remind  me  of  joys  I  pray  God  to  help  me 
forget.  He  was  my  husband,  then  !  —  oh,  cruel  Jacintha, 
to  remind  me  of  what  I  have  been,  of  what  I  am  !  Ah 
me  !  ah  me  !  ah  me  !  " 

"  Your  husband  !  "  cried  Jacintha  in  utter  amazement. 

Then  Josephine  drooped  her  head  on  this  faithful 
creature's  shoulder,  and  told  her  with  many  sobs  the 
story  I  have  told  you.  She  told  it  very  briefly,  for  it 
was  to  a  woman  who,  though  little  educated,  was  full  of 
feeling  and  shrewdness,  and  needed  but  the  bare  facts : 
she  could  add  the  rest  from  her  own  heart  and  expe- 
rience :  could  tell  the  storm  of  feelings  through  which 
these  two  unhappy  lovers  must  have  passed.  Her  fre- 
quent sighs  of  pity  and  sympathy  drew  Josephine  on  to 
pour  out  all  her  griefs.  When  the  tale  was  ended  she 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 


WHITE   LIES.  253 

"  It  might  have  been  worse  :  I  thought  it  was  worse  ; 
the  more  fool  I.  I  deserve  to  have  my  head  cut  off." 
This  was  Jacintha's  only  comment  at  that  time. 

It  was  Josephine's  turn  to  be  amazed.  "  It  could  have 
been  worse  ?  "  said  she.  "  How  ?  tell  me,"  added  she 
bitterly.  "  It  would  be  a  consolation  to  me,  could  I  see 
that." 

Jacintha  colored  and  evaded  this  question,  and  begged 
her  to  go  on,  to  keep  nothing  back  from  her.  Josephine 
assured  her  she  had  revealed  all.  Jacintha  looked  at 
her  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  It  is  then  as  I  half  suspected.  You  do  not  know 
all  that  is  before  you.  You  do  not  see  why  I  am  afraid 
of  that  old  man." 

"  Ko,  not  of  him  in  particular." 

"  Nor  why  I  want  to  keep  Mademoiselle  Rose  from 
prattling  to  him  ?  " 

"  No.  I  assure  you  Rose  is  to  be  trusted ;  she  is  wise 
—  wiser  than  I  am." 

"You  are  neither  of  you  wise.  You  neither  of  you 
know  anything.  My  poor  young  mistress,  you  are  but  a 
child  still.  You  have  a  deep  water  to  wade  through," 
said  Jacintha,  so  solemnly  that  Josephine  trembled.  "  A 
deep  water,  and  do  not  see  it  even.  You  have  told  me 
what  is  past,  now  I  must  tell  you  what  is  coming. 
Heaven  help  me  !  But  is  it  possible  you  have  no  mis- 
giving ?     Tell  the  truth,  now." 

"  Alas  !  I  am  full  of  them ;  at  your  words,  at  your 
manner,  they  fly  around  me  in  crowds." 

"  Have  you  no  one  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  turn  your  head  from  me  a  bit,  my  sweet  young 
lady ;  I  am  an  honest  woman,  though  I  am  not  so  inno- 
cent as  you,  and  I  am  forced  against  my  will  to  speak 
my  mind  plainer  than  I  am  used  to." 


254  WHITE   LIES. 

Then  followed  a  conversation,  to  detail  which  might 
anticipate  onr  story  ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  Hose,  coining 
into  the  room  rather  suddenly,  found  her  sister  weeping 
on  Jacintha's  bosom,  and  Jacintha  crying  and  sobbing 
over  her. 

She  stood  and  stared  in  utter  amazement. 

Dr.  Aubertin,  on  his  arrival,  was  agreeably  surprised 
at  Madame  Eaynal's  appearance.  He  inquired  after  her 
appetite. 

"  Oh,  as  to  her  appetite,"  cried  the  baroness,  "  that  is 
immense." 

" Indeed ! " 

"It  was,"  explained  Josephine,  ''just  when  I  began  to 
get  better,  but  now  it  is  as  much  as  usual."  This  answer 
had  been  arranged  beforehand  by  Jacintha.  She  added, 
"The  fact  is,  we  wanted  to  see  you,  doctor,  and  my 
ridiculous  ailments  were  a  good  excuse  for  tearing  you 
from  Paris."  — "  And  now  we  have  succeeded,"  said 
Eose,  "  let  us  throw  off  the  mask,  and  talk  of  other 
things  ;  above  all,  of  Paris,  and  your  eclat.'" 

"  For  all  that,"  persisted  the  baroness,  "  she  was  ill, 
when  I  first  wrote,  and  very  ill  too." 

"Madame  Raynal,"  said  the  doctor  solemnly,  "your 
conduct  has  been  irregular ;  once  ill,  and  your  illness 
announced  to  your  medical  adviser,  etiquette  forbade  you 
to  get  well  but  by  his  prescriptions.  Since,  then,  you 
have  shown  yourself  unfit  to  conduct  a  malady,  it  be- 
comes my  painful  duty  to  forbid  you  henceforth  ever 
to  be  ill  at  all,  without  my  permission  first  obtained  in 
writing." 

This  badinage  was  greatly  relished  by  Rose,  but  not  at 
all  by  the  baroness,  who  was  as  humorless  as  a  swan. 

He  stayed  a  month  at  Beaurepaire,  then  off  to  Paris 
again :  and  being  now  a  rich  man,  and  not  too  old  to 


WHITE   LIES.  255 

i3ujoy  innocent  pleasures,  lie  got  a  habit  of  running 
backwards  and  forwards  between  the  two  places,  spend- 
ing a  month  or  so  at  each  alternatel}'.  So  the  days 
rolled  on.  Josephine  fell  into  a  state  that  almost  defies 
description ;  her  heart  was  full  of  deadly  wounds,  yet 
it  seemed,  by  some  mysterious,  half-healing  balm,  to 
throb  and  ache,  but  bleed  no  more.  Beams  of  strange, 
unreasonable  complacency  would  shoot  across  her;  the 
next  moment  reflection  would  come,  she  would  droop 
her  head,  and  sigh  piteously.  Then  all  would  merge  in 
a  wild  terror  of  detection.  She  seemed  on  the  borders 
of  a  river  of  bliss,  new,  divine,  and  inexhaustible  :  and 
on  the  other  bank  mocking  malignant  fiends  dared  her 
to  enter  that  heavenly  stream.  The  past  to  her  was 
full  of  regrets ;  the  future  full  of  terrors,  and  empty  of 
hope.  Yet  she  did  not,  could  not  succumb.  Instead 
of  the  listlessness  and  languor  of  a  few  months  back, 
she  had  now  more  energy  than  ever ;  at  times  it  mounted 
to  irritation.  An  activity  possessed  her :  it  broke  out 
in  many  feminine  ways.  Among  the  rest  she  was  seized 
with  what  we  men  call  a  cacoethes  of  the  needle :  "  a 
raging  desire  "  for  work.  Her  fingers  itched  for  work. 
She  was  at  it  all  day.  As  devotees  retire  to  pray,  so  she 
to  stitch.  On  a  wet  day  she  would  often  slip  into  the 
kitchen,  and  ply  the  needle  beside  Jacintha :  on  a  dry 
day  she  would  hide  in  the  old  oak-tree,  and  sit  like  a 
mouse,  and  ply  the  tools  of  her  craft,  and  make  things 
of  no  mortal  use  to  man  or  woman ;  and  she  tried  little 
fringes  of  muslin  upon  her  white  hand,  and  held  it  up 
in  front  of  her,  and  smiled,  and  then  moaned.  It  was 
winter,  and  Rose  used  sometimes  to  bring  her  out  a  thick 
shawl,  as  she  sat  in  the  old  oak-tree  stitching,  but 
Josephine  nearly  always  declined  it.  She  was  nearly 
impervious  to  cold. 

Then,  her  purse  being  better  filled  than  formerly,  she 


256  WHITE   LIES. 

visited  the  poor  more  than  ever,  and  above  all  the  young 
couples;  and  took  a  warm  interest  in  their  household 
matters,  and  gave  them  muslin  articles  of  her  own 
making,  and  sometimes  sniffed  the  soup  in  a  young 
housewife's  pot,  and  took  a  fancy  to  it,  and,  if  invited 
to  taste  it,  paid  her  the  compliment  of  eating  a  good 
plateful  of  it,  and  said  it  was  much  better  soup  than  the 
chateau  produced,  and,  what  is  stranger,  thought  so  :  and, 
whenever  some  peevish  little  brat  set  up  a  yell  in  its 
cradle,  and  the  father  naturally  enough  shook  his  fist  at 
the  destroyer  of  his  peace,  Madame  Raynal's  lovely  face 
filled  with  concern  not  for  the  sufferer  but  the  pest,  and 
she  flew  to  it  and  rocked  it  and  coaxed  it  and  consoled 
it,  till  the  young  housewife  smiled  and  stopped  its  mouth 
by  other  means.  And,  besides  the  five-franc  pieces  she 
gave  the  infants  to  hold,  these  visits  of  Madame  Raynal 
were  always  followed  by  oue  from  Jacintha  with  a 
basket  of  provisions  on  her  stalwart  arm,  and  honest 
Sir  John  Burgoyne  peeping  out  at  the  corner.  Kind  and 
beneficent  as  she  was,  her  temper  deteriorated  consider- 
ably, for  it  came  down  from  angelic  to  human.  Rose 
and  Jacintha  were  struck  with  the  change,  assented  to 
everything  she  said,  and  encouraged  her  in  everything 
it  pleased  her  caprice  to  do.  Meantime  the  baroness 
lived  on  her  son  Raynal's  letters  (they  came  regularly 
twice  a  month).  Rose  too  had  a  correspondence,  a  con- 
stant source  of  delight  to  her.  Edouard  Riviere  was 
posted  at  a  distance,  and  could  not  visit  her ;  but  their 
love  advanced  rapidly.  Every  day  he  wrote  down  for 
his  Rose  the  acts  of  the  day,  and  twice  a  week  sent  the 
budget  to  his  sweetheart,  and  told  her  at  the  same  time 
every  feeling  of  his  heart.  She  was  less  fortunate  than 
he  ;  she  had  to  carry  a  heavy  secret ;  but  still  she  found 
plenty  to  tell  him,  and  tender  feelings  too  to  vent  on  him 
in  her  own  arch,  shy,  fitful  way.     Letters  can  enchain 


WHITE   LIES.  257 

hearts ;  it  was  by  letters  that  these  two  found  them- 
selves imperceptibly  betrothed.  Their  union  was  looked 
forward  to  as  certain,  and  not  very  distant.  Rose  was 
fairly  in  love. 

One  day,  Dr.  Aubertin,  coming  back  from  Paris  to 
Beaurepaire  rather  suddenly,  found  nobody  at  home  but 
the  baroness.  Josephine  and  Rose  were  gone  to  Frejus ; 
had  been  there  more  than  a  week.  She  was  ailing 
again  ;  so  as  Frejus  had  agreed  with  her  once,  Rose 
thought  it  might  again.  "  She  would  send  for  them 
back  directly." 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  "  why  do  that  ?  I  will  go  over 
there  and  see  them."  Accordingly,  a  day  or  two  after 
this,  he  hired  a  carriage,  and  went  off  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  Frejus.  In  so  small  a  place  he  expected  to  find 
the  young  ladies  at  once ;  but,  to  his  surprise,  no  one 
knew  them  nor  had  heard  of  them.  He  was  at  a  non- 
plus, and  just  about  to  return  home  and  laugh  at  himself 
and  the  baroness  for  this  wild-goose  chase,  when  he  fell 
in  with  a  face  he  knew,  one  Mivart,  a  surgeon,  a  young 
man  of  some  talent,  who  had  made  his  acquaintance  in 
Paris.  Mivart  accosted  him  with  great  respect ;  and, 
after  the  first  compliments,  informed  him  that  he  had 
been  settled  some  months  in  this  little  town,  and  was 
doing  a  fair  stroke  of  business. 

"  Killing  some,  and  letting  nature  cure  others,  eh  ?  " 
said  the  doctor;  then,  having  had  his  joke,  he  told 
Mivart  what  had  brought  him  to  Frejus. 

"  Are  they  pretty  women,  your  friends  ?  I  think  I 
know  all  the  pretty  women  about,"  said  Mivart  with 
levity.  "They  are  not  pretty,"  replied  Aubertin. 
Mivart's  interest  in  them  faded  visibly  out  of  his  coun- 
tenance. "  But  they  are  beautiful.  The  elder  might 
pass  for  Venus,  and  the  younger  for  Hebe." 

"  I  know  them  then  ! "  cried  he ;  "  they  are  patients 
of  mine." 


258  WHITE   LIES. 

The  doctor  colored.     "  Ah,  indeed ! " 

"  In  the  absence  of  your  greater  skill,"  said  Mivart, 
politely  ;  "  it  is  Madame  Aubertin  and  her  sister  you  are 
looking  for,  is  it  not  ?  " 

Aubertin  groaned.  "  I  am  rather  too  old  to  be  looking 
for  a  Madame  Aubertin,"  said  he;  "no;  it  is  Madame 
Raynal,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire." 

Mivart  became  confidential.  "  Madame  Aubertin  and 
her  sister,"  said  he,  "  are  so  lovely  they  make  me  ill  to 
look  at  them :  the  deepest  blue  eyes  you  ever  saw,  both 
of  them ;  high  foreheads ;  teeth  like  ivory  mixed  with 
pearl ;  such  aristocratic  feet  and  hands ;  and  their  arms 
—  oh!"  and  by  way  of  general  summary  the  young  sur- 
geon kissed  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and  was  silent;  lan- 
guage succumbed  under  the  theme.  The  doctor  smiled 
coldly. 

Mivart  added,  "  If  you  had  come  an  hour  sooner,  you 
might  have  seen  Mademoiselle  Rose ;  she  was  in  the 
town." 

"  Mademoiselle  Rose  ?  who  is  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  Madame  Aubertin's  sister." 

At  this  Dr.  Aubertin  looked  first  very  puzzled,  then 
very  grave. 

"  Hum  ! "  said  he,  after  a  little  reflection,  "  where  do 
these  paragons  live  ?  " 

"  They  lodge  at  a  small  farm  ;  it  belongs  to  a  widow ; 
her  name  is  Roth."  They  parted.  Dr.  Aubertin  walked 
slowly  towards  his  carriage,  his  hands  behind  him,  his 
eyes  on  the  ground.  He  bade  the  driver  inquire  where 
the  Widow  Roth  lived,  and  learned  it  was  about  half  a 
league  out  of  the  town.  He  drove  to  the  farmhouse; 
when  the  carriage  drove  up,  a  young  lady  looked  out  of 
the  window  on  the  first  floor.  It  was  Rose  de  Beaure- 
paire. She  caught  the  doctor's  eye,  and  he  hers.  She 
came  down  and  welcomed  him  with  a  great  appearance 


WHITE   LIES.  259 

of  cordiality,  and  asked  him,  with  a  smile,  how  he 
found  them  out. 

"  From  your  medical  attendant,"  said  the  doctor,  dryly. 

Rose  looked  keenly  in  his  face. 

"  He  said  he  was  in  attendance  on  two  paragons  of 
beauty,  blue  eyes,  white  teeth  and  arms." 

"  And  you  found  us  out  by  that  ?  "  inquired  Rose, 
looking  still  more  keenly  at  him. 

"  Hardly ;  but  it  was  my  last  chance  of  finding  3-ou, 
so  I  came.     Where  is  IMadame  Raynal  ?  " 

''Come  into  this  room,  dear  friend.  I  will  go  and 
find  her." 

Full  twenty  minutes  was  the  doctor  kept  waiting,  and 
then  in  came  Rose,  gayly  crying,  "I  have  hunted  her 
high  and  low,  and  where  do  you  think  my  lady  was  ? 
sitting  out  in  the  garden  —  come." 

Sure  enough,  they  found  Josephine  in  the  garden, 
seated  on  a  low  chair.  She  smiled  when  the  doctor 
came  up  to  her,  and  asked  after  her  mother.  There  was 
an  air  of  languor  about  her ;  her  color  was  clear,  delicate, 
and  beautiful. 

"  You  have  been  unwell,  my  child." 

"  A  little,  dear  friend ;  you  know  me ;  always  ailing, 
and  tormenting  those  I  love." 

"  Well !  but,  Josephine,  you  know  this  place  and  this 
sweet  air  always  set  you  up.  Look  at  her  now,  doctor ; 
did  you  ever  see  her  look  better  ?  See  what  a  color.  I 
never  saw  her  look  more  lovely." 

"  I  never  saw  her  look  so  lovely ;  but  I  have  seen  her 
look  better.     Your  pulse.     A  little  languid  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  am  a  little." 

"  Do  you  stay  at  Beaurepaire  ?  "  inquired  Rose ;  "  if 
so,  we  will  come  home." 

"On  the  contrary,  you  will  stay  here  another  fort- 
night," said  the  doctor,  authoritatively. 


2G0  WHITE   LIES. 

"Prescribe  some  of  your  nice  tonics  for  me,  doctor," 
said  Josephine,  coaxingly. 

"  No !  I  can't  do  that ;  you  are  in  the  hands  of  another 
practitioner." 

''  What  does  that  matter  ?     You  were  at  Paris." 

"  It  is  not  the  etiquette  in  our  profession  to  interfere 
with  another  man's  patients." 

''  Oh,  dear  !  I  am  so  sorry,"  began  Josephine. 

"  I  see  nothing  here  that  my  good  friend  Mivart  is  not 
competent  to  deal  with,"  said  the  doctor,  coldly. 

Then  followed  some  general  conversation,  at  the  end 
of  which  the  doctor  once  more  laid  his  commands  on 
them  to  stay  another  fortnight  where  they  were,  and 
bade  them  good-by. 

He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  Rose  went  to  the  door  of 
the  kitchen,  and  called  out,  "  Madame  Jouvenel ! 
Madame  Jouvenel !  you  may  come  into  the  garden 
again." 

The  doctor  drove  away ;  but,  instead  of  going  straight 
to  Beaurepaire,  he  ordered  the  driver  to  return  to  the 
town.     He  then  walked  to  Mivart's  house. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  came  out  of  it,  look- 
ing singularly  grave,  sad,  and  stern. 


WHITE  LIES.  201 


CHAPTER  XVIT. 

Edouard  Riviere  contrived  one  Saturday  to  work  off 
all  arrears  of  business,  and  start  for  Beaurepaire.  He 
had  received  a  very  kind  letter  from  Rose,  and  his  long- 
ing to  see  her  overpowered  him.  On  the  road  his  eyes 
often  glittered,  and  his  cheek  flushed  with  expectation. 
At  last  he  got  there.  His  heart  beat :  for  four  months 
he  had  not  seen  her.  He  ran  up  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  there  found  the  baroness  alone ;  she  welcomed  him 
cordially,  but  soon  let  him  know  Rose  and  her  sister 
were  at  Frejus.  His  heart  sank.  Frejus  was  a  long 
way  off.  But  this  was  not  all.  Rose's  last  letter  was 
dated  from  Beaurepaire,  yet  it  must  have  been  written 
at  Frejus.  He  went  to  Jacintha,  and  demanded  an 
explanation  of  this.  The  ready  Jacintha  said  it  looked 
as  if  she  meant  to  be  home  directly ;  and  added,  with 
cool  cunning,  "  That  is  a  hint  for  me  to  get  their  rooms 
ready." 

"  This  letter  must  have  come  here  enclosed  in  another," 
said  Edouard,  sternly. 

"  Like  enough,"  replied  Jacintha,  with  an  appearance 
of  sovereign  indifference. 

Edouard  looked  at  her,  and  said,  grimly,  "  I  will  go  to 
Frejus." 

"So  I  would,"  said  Jacintha,  faltering  a  little,  but  not 
perceptibly;  "you  might  meet  them  on  the  road,  if  so 
be  they  come  the  same  road ;  there  are  two  roads,  you 
know." 

Edouard  hesitated  ;  but  he  ended  by  sending  Dard  to 
the  town  on  his  own  horse,  with  orders  to  leave  him  at 


2G2  WHITE   LIES. 

the  inn,  and  borrow  a  fresh  horse.  "  I  shall  just  have 
time,"  said  he.  He  rode  to  Frejus,  and  inquired  at  the 
inns  and  post-office  for  Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire. 
They  did  not  know  her ;  then  he  inquired  for  Madame 
Raynal.  No  such  name  known.  He  rode  by  the  sea- 
side upon  the  chance  of  their  seeing  him.  He  paraded 
on  horseback  throughout  the  place,  in  hopes  every 
moment  that  a  window  would  open,  and  a  fair  face  shine 
at  it,  and  call  him.  At  last  his  time  was  up,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  ride  back,  sick  at  heart,  to  Beaurepaire.  He 
told  the  baroness,  with  some  natural  irritation,  what  had 
happened.     She  was  as  much  surprised  as  he  was. 

"I  write  to  Madame  Raynal  at  the  post-office,  Frejus," 
said  she. 

"  And  Madame  Raynal  gets  your  letters  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  does,  since  she  answers  them ;  you 
cannot  have  inquired  at  the  post." 

"  Why,  it  was  the  first  place  I  inquired  at,  and  neither 
Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire  nor  Madame  Raynal  were 
known  there." 

Jacintha,  who  could  have  given  the  clew,  seemed  so 
puzzled  herself,  that  they  did  not  even  apply  to  her. 
Edouard  took  a  sorrowful  leave  of  the  baroness,  and  set 
out  on  his  journey  home. 

Oh !  how  sad  and  weary  that  ride  seemed  now  by 
what  it  had  been  coming.  His  disappointment  was 
deep  and  irritating ;  and  ere  he  had  ridden  half  way  a 
torturer  fastened  on  his  heart.  That  torture  is  suspi- 
cion ;  a  vague  and  shadowy,  but  gigantic  phantom  that 
oppresses  and  rends  the  mind  more  terribly  than  cer- 
tainty. In  this  state  of  vague,  sickening  suspicion,  he 
remained  some  days :  then  came  an  affectionate  letter 
from  Rose,  who  had  actually  returned  home.  In  this 
she  expressed  her  regret  and  disappointment  at  having 
missed  him ;    blamed  herself    for  misleading  him,  but 


WHITE   LIES.  263 

explained  that  their  stay  at  Frejus  had  been  prolonged 
from  day  to  day  far  beyond  her  expectation.  "  The  stu- 
pidity of  the  post-office  was  more  than  she  could  account 
for,"  said  she.  But,  what  went  farthest  to  console 
Edouard,  was,  that  after  this  contretemjjs  she  never 
ceased  to  invite  him  to  come  to  Beaurepaire.  Now, 
before  this,  though  she  said  many  kind  and  pretty 
things  in  her  letters,  she  had  never  invited  him  to  visit 
the  chateau  ;  he  had  noticed  this.  '•'  Sweet  soul,"  thought 
he,  "she  really  is  vexed.  I  must  be  a  brute  to  think 
any  more  about  it.     Still "  — 

So  this  wound  was  skinned  over. 

At  last,  what  he  called  his  lucky  star  ordained  that  he 
should  be  transferred  to  the  very  post  his  Commandant 
Raynal  had  once  occupied.  He  sought  and  obtained  per- 
mission to  fix  his  quarters  in  the  little  village  near  Beau- 
repaire, and  though  this  plan  could  not  be  carried  out 
for  three  months,  yet  the  prospect  of  it  was  joyful  all 
that  time  —  joyful  to  both  lovers.  Kose  needed  this  con- 
solation, for  she  was  very  unhappy :  her  beloved  sister, 
since  their  return  from  Frejus,  had  gone  back.  The 
flush  of  health  was  faded,  and  so  was  her  late  energy. 
She  fell  into  deep  depression  and  languor,  broken  occa- 
sionally by  fits  of  nervous  irritation. 

She  would  sit  for  hours  together  at  one  Avindow 
languishing  and  fretting.  Can  the  female  reader  guess 
which  way  that  window  looked  ? 

Kow,  Edouard  was  a  favorite  of  Josephine's  ;  so  Rose 
hoped  he  would  help  to  distract  her  attention  from  those 
sorrows  which  a  lapse  of  years  alone  could  cure. 

On  every  account,  then,  his  visit  was  looked  forward 
to  with  hope  and  joy. 

He  came.  He  was  received  with  open  arms.  He  took 
up  his  quarters  at  his  old  lodgings,  but  spent  his  even- 
ings and  every  leisure  hour  at  the  chateau. 


264  WHITE   LIES. 

He  was  very  much  in  love,  and  showed  it.  He  adhered 
to  Rose  like  a  leech,  and  followed  her  about  like  a  little 
dog. 

This  would  have  made  her  very  happy  if  there  had 
been  nothing  great  to  distract  her  attention  and  her 
heart ;  but  she  had  Josephine,  whose  deep  depression 
and  fits  of  irritation  and  terror  filled  her  with  anxiety  ; 
and  so  Edouard  was  in  the  way  now  and  then.  On  these 
occasions  he  was  too  vain  to  see  what  she  was  too  polite 
to  show  him  offensively. 

But  on  this  she  became  vexed  at  his  obtuseness. 

"  Does  he  think  I  can  be  always  at  his  beck  and  call  ?  " 
thought  she. 

"  She  is  always  after  her  sister,"  said  he. 

He  was  just  beginning  to  be  jealous  of  Josephine  when 
the  following  incident  occurred :  — 

Rose  and  the  doctor  were  discussing  Josephine. 
Edouard  pretended  to  be  reading  a  book,  but  he  listened 
to  every  word. 

Dr.  Aubertin  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  Madame  Ray- 
nal  did  not  make  enough  blood. 

"  Oh !  if  I  thought  that !  "  cried  Rose. 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  so,  I  assure  you." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Rose,  "  do  you  remember,  one  day  you 
said  healthy  blood  could  be  drawn  from  robust  veins  and 
poured  into  a  sick  person's  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  well-known  fact,"  said  Aubertin. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Rose,  dryly. 

"  Then  you  place  a  very  narrow  limit  to  science,"  said 
the  doctor,  coldly. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  it  done  ?  "  asked  Rose,  slyly. 

"I  have  not  only  seen  it  done,  but  have  done  it 
myself." 

"  Then  do  it  for  us.  There's  my  arm ;  take  blood  from 
that  for  dear  Josephine ! "  and  she  thrust  a  white  arm 


WHITE   LIES.  265 

out  under  his  eye  with  such  a  Lohl  movement  and  such 
a  look  of  fire  and  love  as  never  beamed  from  common 
eyes. 

A  keen,  cold  pang  shot  tlirough  the  human  heart  of 
Edouard  Riviere. 

The  doctor  started  and  gazed  at  her  with  admiration  : 
then  he  hung  his  head.  ''  I  could  not  do  it.  I  love  you 
both  too  well  to  drain  either  of  life's  current." 

Rose  veiled  her  fire,  and  began  to  coax.  "  Once  a 
week  ;  just  once  a  week,  dear,  dear  doctor ;  you  know  I 
should  never  miss  it.  I  am  so  full  of  that  health,  which 
Heaven  denies  to  her  I  love." 

*'  Let  us  try  milder  measures  first,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  I  have  most  faith  in  time." 

"  What  if  I  were  to  take  her  to  Frejus  ?  hitherto,  the 
sea  has  always  done  wonders  for  her." 

"  Frejus,  by  all  means,"  said  Edouard,  mingling  sud- 
denly in  the  conversation  ;  "  and  this  time  I  will  go  with 
you,  and  then  I  shall  find  out  where  you  lodged  before, 
and  how  the  boobies  came  to  say  they  did  not  know  you." 

Rose  bit  her  lip.  She  could  not  help  seeing  then  how 
much  dear  Edouard  was  in  her  way  and  Josephine's. 
Their  best  friends  are  in  the  way  of  all  who  have  secrets. 
Presently  the  doctor  went  to  his  study.  Then  Edouard 
let  fall  a  mock  soliloquy.  "■  I  wonder,"  said  he,  dropping 
out  his  words  one  by  one,  "  whether  any  one  will  ever 
love  me  well  enough  to  give  a  drop  of  tlieir  blood  for 
me." 

"If  you  were  in  sickness  and  sorrow,  who  knows?" 
said  Rose,  coloring  up. 

"  I  would  soon  be  in  sickness  and  sorrow  if  I  thought 
that." 

"  Don't  jest  with  such  matters,  monsieur." 

"  I  am  serious.  I  wisli  I  was  as  ill  as  Madame  Raynal 
is,  to  be  loved  as  she  is." 


266  WHITE   LIES. 

"  You  must  resemble  her  in  some  other  things  to  be 
loved  as  she  is." 

''  You  have  often  made  me  feel  that  of  late,  dear  Rose." 

This  touched  her.  But  she  fought  down  the  kindly- 
feeling.  "  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  she,  out  of  perverseness. 
She  added  after  a  while,  "  Edouard,  you  are  naturally 
jealous." 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,  Rose,  I  assure  you.  I 
have  many  faults,  but  jealous  I  am  not." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are,  and  suspicious,  too ;  there  is  some- 
thing in  your  character  that  alarms  me  for  our  happi- 
ness." 

"  Well,  if  you  come  to  that,  there  are  things  in  your 
conduct  I  could  wish  explained." 

"  There  !  I  said  so.     You  have  not  confidence  in  me." 

"  Pray  don't  say  that,  dear  Rose.  I  have  every  confi- 
dence in  you  ;  only  please  don't  ask  me  to  divest  myself 
of  my  senses  and  my  reason." 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  that  or  anything  else  for  me  ; 
good-by,  for  the  present." 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  tic  !  tic  !  I  never  can  get 
a  word  in  peace  with  you." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  commit  murder.  I'm  only  going 
up-stairs  to  my  sister." 

"Poor  Madame  Raynal,  she  makes  it  very  hard  for  me 
not  to  dislike  her." 

"  Dislike  my  Josephine  ?  "  and  Rose  bristled  visibly. 

"  She  is  an  angel,  but  I  should  hate  an  angel  if  it  came 
forever  between  you  and  me." 

"Excuse  me,  she  was  here  long  before  you.  It  is  you 
that  came  between  her  and  me." 

"  I  came  because  I  was  told  I  should  be  welcome,"  said 
Edouard  bitterly,  and  equivocating  a  little  ;  he  added, 
"  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  go  when  I  am  told  I  am  one  too 
many." 


WHITE   LIES.  267 

"Bad  heart!  who  says  you  are  one  too  many  in  the 
house  ?  But  you  are  too  exigent,  monsieur ;  you  assume 
the  husband,  and  you  tease  me.  It  is  selfish ;  can  you 
not  see  I  am  anxious  and  worried  ?  you  ought  to  be  kind 
to  me,  and  soothe  me ;  that  is  what  I  look  for  from  you, 
and,  instead  of  that,  I  declare  you  are  getting  to  be  quite 
a  worry." 

"  I  should  not  be  if  you  loved  me  as  I  love  you.  I 
give  yoii.  no  rival.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  cause  of  all  this  ? 
you  have  secrets." 

"What  secrets?" 

"  Is  it  me  you  ask  ?  am  I  trusted  with  them  ?  Secrets 
are  a  bond  that  not  even  love  can  overcome.  It  is  to 
talk  secrets  you  run  away  from  me  to  Madame  Raynal. 
Where  did  you  lodge  at  Frejus,  Mademoiselle  the  Eeti- 
cent?" 

"  In  a  grotto,  dry  at  low  water,  Monsieur  the  Inquisi- 
tive." 

"That  is  enough :  since  you  will  not  tell  me,  I  will  find 
it  out  before  I  am  a  week  older." 

This  alarmed  Rose  terribly,  and  drove  her  to  extremi- 
ties.    She  decided  to  quarrel. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  I  thank  you  for  playing  the  tyrant 
a  little  prematurely ;  it  has  put  me  on  my  guard.  Let 
us  part ;  you  and  I  are  not  suited  to  each  other,  Edouard 
Riviere." 

He  took  this  more  humbly  than  she  expected.  "  Part ! " 
said  he,  in  consternation ;  "  that  is  a  terrible  word  to 
pass  between  you  and  me.  Forgive  me  !  I  suppose  I  am 
jealous." 

"You  are;  you  are  actually  jealous  of  my  sister. 
Well,  I  tell  you  plainly  I  love  you,  but  I  love  my  sister 
better.  I  never  could  love  any  man  as  I  do  her ;  it  is 
ridiculous  to  expect  such  a  thing." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  could  bear  to  play  second  fiddle 
to  her  all  my  life  ?  " 


2C8  WHITE    LIES. 

"  I  don't  ask  you.  Go  and  j)lay  first  trumpet  to  some 
other  lady." 

"  You  speak  your  wishes  so  plainly  now,  1  have  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  obey." 

He  kissed  her  hand  and  went  away  disconsolately. 

Eose,  instead  of  going  to  Josephine,  her  determination 
to  do  which  had  mainly  caused  the  quarrel,  sat  sadly 
down,  and  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand.  "  I  am  cruel. 
I  am  ungrateful.  He  has  gone  away  broken-hearted. 
And  what  shall  I  do  without  him  ?  —  little  fool !  I  love 
him  better  than  he  loves  me.  He  will  never  forgive  me. 
I  have  wounded  his  vanity  ;  and  they  are  vainer  than  we 
are.  If  we  meet  at  dinner  I  will  be  so  kind  to  him, 
he  will  forget  it  all.  No !  Edouard  will  not  come  to 
dinner.  He  is  not  a  spaniel  that  you  can  beat,  and  then 
whistle  back  again.  Something  tells  me  I  have  lost  him, 
and  if  I  have,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  will  write  him  a  note. 
1  will  ask  him  to  forgive  me." 

She  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  took  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper  and  began  to  write  a  few  conciliatory  words.  She 
was  so  occupied  in  making  these  kind  enough,  and  not 
too  kind,  that  a  light  step  approached  her  unobserved. 
She  looked  up  and  there  was  Edouard.  She  whipped  the 
paper  off  the  table. 

A  look  of  suspicion  and  misery  crossed  Edouard's  face. 

Kose  caught  it,  and  said,  "  Well,  am  I  to  be  affronted 
any  more  ?  " 

"No,  Kose.  I  came  back  to  beg  you  to  forget  Avhat 
passed  just  now,"  said  he. 

Rose's  eye  flashed ;  his  return  showed  her  her  power. 
She  abused  it  directly. 

"  How  can  I  forget  it  if  you  come  reminding  me  ?  " 

"  Dear  Eose,  now  don't  be  so  unkind,  so  cruel  —  I  have 
not  come  back  to  tease  you,  sweet  one.  I  come  to  know 
what  I  can   do  to  please  you;    to   make  you  love  me 


WHITE   LIES.  2G9 

again  ? "  and  he  was  about  to  kneel  graciously  on  one 
knee. 

"  I'll  tell  you.     Don't  come  near  me  for  a  month." 

Edouard  started  up,  white  as  ashes  with  mortification 
and  wounded  love. 

"  This  is  how  you  treat  me  for  humbling  myself,  when 
it  is  you  that  ought  to  ask  forgiveness." 

"  Why  should  I  ask  what  I  don't  care  about  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  care  about  ?  —  except  that  sister  of 
yours  ?  You  have  no  heart.  And  on  this  cold-blooded 
creature  I  have  wasted  a  love  an  empress  might  have 
been  proud  of  inspiring.  I  pray  Heaven  some  man  may 
sport  with  your  affections,  yoa  heartless  creature,  as  you 
have  played  with  mine,  and  make  you  suffer  what  I  suf- 
fer now ! " 

And  with  a  burst  of  inarticulate  grief  and  rage  he 
flung  out  of  the  room. 

Kose  sank  trembling  on  the  sofa  a  little  while :  then 
with  a  mighty  effort  rose  and  went  to  comfort  her  sister. 

Edouard  came  no  more  to  Beaurepaire. 

There  is  an  old  French  proverb,  and  a  wise  one,  "i?ie« 
n^est  certain  que  I'imprevu  ; "  it  means  you  can  make 
sure  of  nothing  but  this,  that  matters  will  not  turn  as 
you  feel  sure  they  will.  And,  even  for  this  reason,  you, 
who  are  thinking  of  suicide  because  trade  is  declining, 
speculation  failing,  bankruptcy  impending,  or  your  life 
going  to  be  blighted  forever  by  unrequited  love  — don't 
do  it.  Whether  you  are  English,  American,  French,  or 
German,  listen  to  a  man  that  knows  what  is  what,  and 
dorit  do  it.  I  tell  you  none  of  those  horrors,  when  they 
really  come,  will  affect  you  as  you  fancy  they  will.  The 
joys  we  expect  are  not  a  quarter  so  bright,  nor  the  troubles 
half  so  dark  as  we  think  tliey  will  be.  Bankruptcy 
coming  is  one  thing,  come  is  quite  another:  and  no  heart 


270  WHITE  LIES. 

or  life  was  ever  really  blighted  at  twenty  years  of  age. 
The  love-sick  girls  that  are  picked  out  of  the  canal  alive, 
all,  without  exception,  marry  another  man,  have  brats, 
and  get  to  screech  with  laughter  when  they  think  of 
sweetheart  No.  1,  generally  a  blockhead,  or  else  a  black- 
guard, whom  they  were  fools  enough  to  wet  their  clothes 
for,  let  alone  kill  their  souls.  This  happens  invariably. 
The  love-sick  girls  that  are  picked  out  of  the  canal  dead 
have  fled  from  a  year's  misery  to  eternal  pain,  from  grief 
that  time  never  failed  to  cure,  to  anguish  incurable.  In 
this  world  ''  Rien  n'est  certain  que  Pimprevu." 

Edouard  and  Rose  were  tender  lovers,  at  a  distance. 
How  much  happier  and  more  loving  they  thought  they 
should  be  beneath  the  same  roof.  They  came  together : 
their  prominent  faults  of  character  rubbed :  the  secret 
that  was  in  the  house  did  its  work :  and  altogether,  they 
quarrelled.     LHmprev^i. 

Dard  had  been  saying  to  Jacintha  for  ever  so  long, 
"  When  granny  dies,  I  will  marry  you." 

Granny  died.  Dard  took  possession  of  her  little  prop- 
erty. Up  came  a  glittering  official,  and  turned  him  out ; 
he  was  not  her  heir.  Perrin,  the  notary,  was.  He  had 
bought  the  inheritance  of  her  two  sons,  long  since  dead. 

Dard  had  not  only  looked  on  the  cottage  and  cow,  as 
his,  but  had  spoken  of  them  as  such  for  years.  The  dis- 
appointment and  the  irony  of  comrades  ate  into  him. 

"  I  will  leave  this  cursed  place,"  said  he. 

Josephine  instantly  sent  for  him  to  Beaurepaire.  He 
came,  and  was  factotum  with  the  novelty  of  a  fixed  salary. 
Jacintha  accommodated  him  with  a  new  little  odd  job  or 
two.  She  set  him  to  dance  on  the  oak  floors  with  a  brush 
fastened  to  his  right  foot ;  and,  after  a  rehearsal  or  two, 
she  made  him  wait  at  table.  Didn't  he  bang  the  things 
about :  and  when  he  brought  a  lady  a  dish,  and  she  did 
not  instantly  attend,  he  gave  her  elbow  a  poke  to  attract 


WHITE   LIES.  271 

attention  :  then  she  squeaked ;  and  he  grinned  at  her 
double  absurdity  in  minding  a  touch,  and  not  minding 
the  real  business  of  the  table. 

But  his  wrongs  rankled  in  him.  He  vented  antique 
l)hrases  such  as,  ''  I  want  a  change ;  "  "  This  village  is 
the  last  place  the  Almighty  made,"  etc. 

Then  he  was  attacked  with  a  moral  disease  :  affected 
the  company  of  soldiers.  He  spent  his  weekly  salary 
carousing  with  the  military,  a  class  of  men  so  brilliant 
that  they  are  not  expected  to  pay  for  their  share  of  the 
drink ;  they  contribute  the  anecdotes  and  the  familiar 
appeals  to  Heaven  :  and  is  not  that  enough  ? 

Present  at  many  recitals,  the  heroes  of  which  lost 
nothing  by  being  their  own  historians,  Dard  imbibed  a 
taste  for  military  adventure.  His  very  talk,  which  used 
to  be  so  homely,  began  now  to  be  tinselled  with  big 
swelling  words  of  vanity  imported  from  the  army.  I 
need  hardly  say  these  bombastical  phrases  did  not  elevate 
his  general  dialect :  they  lay  fearfully  distinct  upon  the 
surface,  "  like  lumps  of  marl  upon  a  barren  soil,  encum- 
bering the  ground  they  could  not  fertilize." 

Jacintha  took  leave  to  remind  him  of  an  incident 
connected  with  warfare  —  wounds. 

"Do  you  remember  how  you  were  down  upon  your 
luck  when  you  did  but  cut  your  foot  ?  Why,  that  is 
nothing  in  the  army.  They  never  go  out  to  fight  but 
some  come  back  with  arms  off,  and  some  with  legs  off, 
and  some  with  heads  ;  and  the  rest  don't  come  back  at 
all :  and  how  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

This  intrusion  of  statistics  into  warfare  at  first  cooled 
Dard's  impatience  for  the  field.  But  presently  the  fight- 
ing half  of  his  heart  received  an  ally  in  one  Sergeant  La 
Croix  (not  a  bad  name  for  a  military  aspirant).  This 
sergeant  was  at  the  village  waiting  to  march  with  the 
new  recruits  to  the  Ehine.     Sergeant  La  Croix  was  a 


272  WHITE   LIES. 

man  who,  by  force  of  eloquence,  could  make  soldiering 
appear  the  most  delightful  as  well  as  glorious  of  human 
pursuits.  His  tongue  fired  the  inexperienced  soul  with 
a  love  of  arms,  as  do  the  drums  and  trumpets  and  tramp 
of  soldiers,  and  their  bayonets  glittering  in  the  sun.  He 
would  have  been  worth  his  weight  in  fustian  here,  where 
we  recruit  by  that  and  jargon  ;  he  was  superfluous  in 
France,  Avhere  they  recruited  by  force  :  but  he  was  orna- 
mental :  and  he  set  Dard  and  one  or  two  more  on  fire. 
Indeed,  so  absorbing  was  his  sense  of  military  glory,  that 
there  was  no  room  left  in  him  for  that  mere  verbal  honor 
civilians  call  veracity. 

To  speak  plainly,  the  sergeant  was  a  fluent,  fertile, 
interesting,  sonorous,  prompt,  audacious  liar :  and  such 
was  his  success,  that  Dard  and  one  or  two  more  became 
mere  human  fiction  pipes  —  of  comparatively  small  diam- 
eter —  irrigating  a  rural  district  with  false  views  of  mili- 
tary life,  derived  from  that  inexhaustible  reservoir.  La 
Croix. 

At  last  the  long-threatened  conscription  was  levied : 
every  person  fit  to  bear  arms,  and  not  coming  under  the 
allowed  exceptions,  drew  a  number :  and  at  a  certain 
hour  the  numbers  corresponding  to  these  were  deposited 
in  an  urn,  and  one-third  of  them  were  drawn  in  presence 
of  the  authorities.  Those  men  whose  numbers  were 
drawn  had  to  go  for  soldiers.  Jacintha  awaited  the 
result  in  great  anxiety.  She  could  not  sit  at  home  for 
it ;  so  she  went  down  the  road  to  meet  Dard,  who  had 
promised  to  come  and  tell  her  the  result  as  soon  as 
known.  At  last  she  saw  him  approaching  in  a  discon- 
solate way.  "  0  Dard  !  speak  !  are  we  undone  ?  are  you 
a  dead  man  ?  "  cried  she.  ''  Have  they  made  a  soldier 
of  you  ?  " 

"  No  such  luck :  I  shall  die  a  man  of  all  work," 
grunted  Dard. 


WHITE    LIES.  273 

"And  you  are  sorry?  you  unnatural  little  monster! 
you  have  no  feeling  for  me,  then." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  ;  but  glory  is  No.  1  with  me  now." 

"  How  loud  the  bantams  crow  !  You  leave  glory  to 
fools  that  be  six  feet  high." 

"  General  Bonaparte  isn't  much  higher  than  I  am,  and 
glory  sits  upon  his  brow.  Why  shouldn't  glory  sit  upon 
my  brow  ?  " 

"Because  it  would  weigh  you  down,  and  smother  j'ou, 
you  little  fool."  She  added,  "And  think  of  me,  that 
couldn't  bear  you  to  be  killed  at  any  price,  glory  or  no 
glory." 

Then,  to  appease  her  fears,  Dard  showed  her  his 
number,  99 ;  and  assured  her  he  had  seen  the  last 
number  in  the  functionary's  hand  before  he  came  away, 
and  it  was  sixty  something. 

This  ocular  demonstration  satisfied  Jacintha  ;  and  she 
ordered  Dard  to  help  her  draw  the  water. 

"All  right,"  said  he,  "there  is  no  immortal  glory  to  be 
picked  up  to-day,  so  I'll  go  in  for  odd  jobs." 

While  they  were  at  this  job  a  voice  was  heard  hallooing. 
Dard  looked  up,  and  there  was  a  rigid  military  figure, 
with  a  tremendous  mustache,  peering  about.  Dard  was 
overjoyed.  It  was  his  friend,  his  boon-companion. 
"Come  here,  old  fellow,"  cried  he,  "ain't  I  glad  to  see 
you,  that  is  all  ?  "  La  Croix  marched  towards  the  pair. 
"What  are  you  skulking  here  for,  recruit  ninety -niue  ?" 
said  he,  sternly,  dropping  the  boon-companion  in  the  ser- 
geant ;  "  the  rest  are  on  the  road." 

"  The  rest,  old  fellow  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  why,  I  was 
not  drawn." 

"  Yes,  you  were." 

"No,  I  wasn't." 

"  Thunder  of  war,  but  I  say  you  were.     Yours  was  the 
last  number." 
18 


274  WHITE   LIES. 

"  That  is  an  unlucky  guess  of  yours,  for  I  saw  the  last 
number.  Look  here,"  and  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and 
produced  his  number. 

La  Croix  instantly  fished  out  a  corresponding  number. 

"  Well,  and  here  you  are  ;  this  Avas  the  last  number 
drawn." 

Dard  burst  out  laughing. 

"You  goose  !"  said  he,  "that  is  sixty -six  —  look  at  it." 

"  Sixty-six  ! "  roared  the  sergeant ;  "  no  more  than 
yours  is  —  they  are  both  sixty-sixes  when  you  play 
tricks  with  them,  and  turn  them  up  like  that ;  but  they 
are  both  ninety-nines  when  you  look  at  them  fair." 

Dard  scratched  his  head. 

"Come,"  said  the  corporal,  briskly,  "make  up  his 
bundle,  girl,  and  let  us  be  off ;  we  have  got  our  march- 
ing orders  ;  going  to  the  Rhine." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  I  Avill  let  him  go  ?  "  screamed 
Jacintha.  "No  !  I  will  say  one  word  to  Madame  Raynal, 
and  she  will  buy  him  a  siibstitute  directly." 

Dard  stopped  her  sullenly.  "No  !  I  have  told  all  in 
the  village  that  I  would  go  the  first  chance  :  it  is  come, 
and  I'll  go.  I  won't  stay  to  be  laughed  at  about  this 
too.  If  I  was  sure  to  be  cut  in  pieces,  I'd  go.  Give  over 
blubbering,  girl,  and  get  us  a  bottle  of  the  best  wine, 
and  while  "we  are  drinking  it,  the  sergeant  and  I,  you 
make  up  my  bundle.     I  shall  never  do  any  good  here." 

Jacintha  knew  the  obstinate  toad.  She  did  as  she  was 
bid,  and  soon  the  little  bundle  was  ready,  and  the  two 
men  faced  the  wine  ;  La  Croix,  radiant  and  bellicose ; 
Dard,  crestfallen  but  dogged  (for  there  was  a  little  bit 
of  good  stuff  at  the  bottom  of  the  creature) ;  and  Jacin- 
tha rocking  herself,  with  her  apron  over  her  head. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  toast,"  said  La  Croix.  "  Here's  gun- 
powder." 

Jacintha  promptly  honored  the  toast  with  a  flood  of 
tears. 


"WHITE   LIES.  275 

"  Drop  that,  Jacintha,"  said  Dard,  angrily  ;  *'  do  you 
think  that  is  encouraging  ?  Sergeant,  I  told  this  poor 
girl  all  about  glory  before  you  came,  but  she  was  not  ripe 
for  it :  say  something  to  cheer  her  up,  for  I  can't." 

"I  can,"  cried  this  trumpet  of  battle,  emptying  its 
glass.     "Attention,  young  woman." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  yes,  sir." 

"A  French  soldier  is  a  man  who  carries  France  in  his 
heart "  — 

"But  if  the  cruel  foreign  soldiers  kill  him  ?     Oh  !  " 

"  Why,  in  that  case,  he  does  not  care  a  straw.  Every 
man  must  die ;  horses  likewise,  and  dogs,  and  donkeys, 
when  they  come  to  the  end  of  their  troubles ;  but  dogs 
and  donkeys  and  chaps  in  blouses  can't  die  gloriously  ; 
as  Dard  may,  if  he  has  any  luck  at  all :  so,  from  this 
hour,  if  there  was  twice  as  little  of  him,  be  proud  of  him, 
for  from  this  time  he  is  a  part  of  France  and  her  renown. 
Come,  recruit  ninety-nine,  shoulder  your  traps  at  duty's 
call,  and  let  us  go  forth  in  form.  Attention  !  Quick  — 
march  !  Halt !  is  that  the  way  I  showed  you  to  march  ? 
Didn't  I  tell  you  to  start  from  the  left  ?  Now  try  again. 
Quick  —  march !  left — right  —  left  —  right  — left  —  right 

—  now  you've  —  got  it  —  drat  ye, — keep  it  —  left  —  right 

—  left  —  right  —  left  —  right."     And  with  no  more  ado 
the  sergeant  marched  the  little  odd-job  man  to  the  wars. 

Vive  la  France  ! 


276  WHITE   LIES. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Edouard,  the  moment  his  temper  cooled,  became  very 
sad.  He  longed  to  be  friends  again  with  Rose,  but  did 
not  know  how.  His  own  pride  held  him  back,  and  so 
did  his  fear  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  and  that  his 
offended  mistress  would  not  listen  to  an  offer  of  recon- 
ciliation from  him.  He  sat  down  alone  now  to  all  his 
little  meals.  No  sweet,  mellow  voices  in  his  ear  after 
the  fatigues  of  the  day.  It  was  a  dismal  change  in  liis 
life. 

At  last,  one  day,  he  received  three  lines  from  Josephine, 
requesting  him  to  come  and  speak  to  her.  He  went  over 
directly,  full  of  vague  hopes.  He  found  her  seated  pale 
and  languid  in  a  small  room  on  the  ground  floor. 

"  What  has  she  been  doing  to  you,  dear  ?  "  began  she 
kindly. 

"  Has  she  not  told  you,  Madame  Raynal  ?  " 

"No;  she  is  refractory.  She  will  tell  me  nothing,  and 
that  makes  me  fear  she  is  the  one  in  fault." 

"  Oh !  if  she  does  not  accuse  me,  I  am  sure  I  will  not 
accuse  her.  I  dare  say  I  am  to  blame ;  it  is  not  her  fault 
that  I  cannot  make  her  love  me." 

''  But  you  can.     She  does." 

"  Yes ;  but  she  loves  others  better,  and  she  holds  me 
out  no  hope  it  will  ever  be  otherwise.  On  this  one  point 
how  can  I  hope  for  your  sympathy;  unfortunately  for 
me  you  are  one  of  my  rivals.  She  told  me  plainly  she 
never  could  love  me  as  she  loves  you." 

"  And  you  believed  her  ?  " 

"  I  had  good  reason  to  believe  hec" 


WHITE   LIES.  277 

Josephine  smiled  sadly.  "Dear  Edouavd,"  said  she, 
''you  must  not  attach  so  much  importance  to  every  word 
we  say.  Does  Rose  at  her  age  know  ever^^thing  ?  Is  she 
a  prophet  ?  Perhaps  she  really  fancies  she  will  alwaj^s 
love  her  sister  as  she  does  now ;  but  you  are  a  man  of 
sense ;  you  ought  to  smile  and  let  her  talk.  When  you 
marry  her  you  will  take  her  to  your  own  house ;  she  will 
only  see  me  now  and  then ;  she  will  have  you  and  your 
affection  always  present.  Each  day  some  new  tie  between 
you  and  her.  You  two  will  share  every  joy,  every  sorrow. 
Your  children  playing  at  your  feet,  and  reflecting  the 
features  of  both  parents,  will  make  you  one.  Your  hearts 
will  melt  together  in  that  blessed  union  which  raises 
earth  so  near  to  heaven ;  and  then  you  will  wonder  you 
could  ever  be  jealous  of  poor  Josephine,  who  must  never 
hope  —  ah,  me  !  " 

Edouard,  wrapped  up  in  himself,  mistook  Josephine's 
emotion  at  the  picture  she  had  drawn  of  conjugal  love. 
He  soothed  her,  and  vowed  upon  his  honor  he  never 
would  separate  Rose  from  her. 

"Madame  Raynal,"  said  he,  "you  are  an  angel,  and  I 
am  a  fiend.  Jealousy  must  be  the  meanest  of  all  senti- 
ments. I  never  will  be  jealous  again,  above  all,  of  you, 
sweet  angel.  Why,  you  are  my  sister  as  well  as  hers, 
and  she  has  a  right  to  love  you,  for  I  love  you  myself." 

"  You  make  me  very  happy  when  you  talk  so,"  sighed 
Josephine.     "  Peace  is  made  ?  " 

"Never  again  to  be  broken.  I  will  go  and  ask  her 
pardon.     What  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

For  Jacintha  was  cackling  very  loud,  and  dismissing 
with  ignominy  two  beggars,  male  and  female. 

She  was  industry  personified,  and  had  no  sympathy 
with  mendicity.  In  vain  the  couple  protested,  Heaven 
knows  with  what  truth,  tluit  they  were  not  beggars,  but 
mechanics  out  of  work.    "  March !  tramp ! "  was  Jacintha's 


278  WHITE  LIES. 

least  word.  She  added,  giving  the  rein  to  her  imagina- 
tion, "  I'll  loose  the  dog."  The  man  moved  away,  tlie 
woman  turned  appealingly  to  Edouard,  He  and  Joseph- 
ine came  towards  the  group.  She  had  got  a  sort  of  large 
hood,  and  in  that  hood  she  carried  an  infant  on  her 
shoulders.  Josephine  inspected  it.  "  It  looks  sickly, 
poor  little  thing,"  said  she. 

"  What  can  you  expect,  young  lady  ?  "  said  the  woman. 
"  Its  mother  had  to  rise  and  go  about  when  she  ought  to 
have  been  in  her  bed,  and  now  she  has  not  enough  to 
give  it." 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  cried  Josephine.  "  Jacintha,  give  them 
some  food  and  a  nice  bottle  of  wine." 

"That  I  will,"  cried  Jacintha,  changing  her  tone  with 
courtier-like  alacrity.     "  I  did  not  see  she  was  nursing." 

Josephine  put  a  franc  into  the  infant's  hand ;  the  little 
fingers  closed  on  it  with  that  instinct  of  appropriation, 
which  is  our  first  and  often  our  last  sentiment.  Josephine 
smiled  lovingly  on  the  child,  and  the  child  seeing  that 
gave  a  small  crow. 

*' Bless  it,"  said  Josephine,  and  thereupon  her  lovely 
head  reared  itself  like  a  snake's,  and  then  darted  down 
on  the  child ;  and  the  young  noble  kissed  the  beggar's 
brat  as  if  she  would  eat  it. 

This  won  the  mother's  heart  more  than  even  the  gifts. 

"  Blessings  on  you,  my  lady ! "  she  cried.  '■  I  pray  the 
Lord  not  to  forget  this  when  a  woman's  trouble  comes  on 
you  in  your  turn !  It  is  a  small  child,  mademoiselle,  but 
it  is  not  an  unhealthy  one.  See."  Inspection  was  offered, 
and  eagerly  accepted. 

Edouard  stood  looking  on  at  some  distance  in  amaze- 
ment, mingled  with  disgust. 

"  Ugh  !  "  said  he,  when  she  rejoined  him,  "how  could 
you  kiss  that  nasty  little  brat  ?  " 

"Dear  Edouard,  don't  speak  so  of  a  poor  little  innocent. 


WHITE    LIES.  279 

Who  would  pity  them  if  we  women  did  not  ?  It  had 
lovely  eyes." 

"  Like  saucers." 

«  Yes." 

"  It  is  no  compliment  when  you  are  affectionate  to  any- 
body ;  you  overflow  with  benevolence  on  all  creation,  like 
the  rose  which  sheds  its  perfume  on  the  first-comer." 

"  If  he  is  not  going  to  be  jealous  of  me  next,"  whined 
Josephine. 

She  took  him  to  Rose,  and  she  said,  "  There,  whenever 
good  friends  quarrel,  it  is  understood  they  were  both  in 
the  wrong.  Bygones  are  to  be  bygones  ;  and  Avhen  your 
time  comes  round  to  quarrel  again,  please  consult  me 
first,  since  it  is  me  you  will  afflict."  She  left  them 
together,  and  went  and  tapped  timidly  at  the  doctor's 
study. 

Aubertin  received  her  with  none  of  that  reserve  she 
had  seen  in  him.  He  appeared  both  surprised  and  pleased 
at  her  visit  to  his  little  sanctum.  He  even  showed  an 
emotion  Josephine  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for.  But 
that  wore  oif  during  the  conversation,  and,  indeed,  gave 
place  to  a  sort  of  coldness. 

"  Dear  friend,"  said  she,  "  I  come  to  consult  you  aboui 
Rose  and  Edouard."  She  then  told  him  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  hinted  at  Edouard's  one  fault.  The  doctor 
smiled.  "It  is  curious.  You  have  come  to  draw  my 
attention  to  a  point  on  which  it  has  been  fixed  for  some 
days  past.  I  am  preparing  a  cure  for  the  two  young 
fools;  a  severe  remedy,  but  in  their  case  a  sure  one." 

He  then  showed  her  a  deed,  wherein  he  had  settled  sixty 
thousand  francs  on  Rose  and  her  children.  "  Edouard," 
said  he,  "has  a  good  place.  He  is  active  and  rising,  and 
with  my  sixty  thousand  francs,  and  a  little  purse  of  ten 
thousand  more  for  furniture  and  nonsense,  they  can  marry 
next  week,  if  they  like.     Yes,  marriage  is  a  sovereign 


280  WHITE    LIES. 

medicine  for  both  of  these  patients.  She  does  not  love 
him  quite  enough.  Cure  :  marriage.  He  loves  her  a 
little  too  much.     Cure :  marriage." 

"  0  doctor ! " 

"  Can't  help  it.  I  did  not  make  men  and  women.  We 
must  take  human  nature  as  we  find  it,  and  thank  God 
for  it  on  the  whole.  Have  you  nothing  else  to  confide 
to  me  ?  " 

"  No,  doctor." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"No,  dear  friend.  But  this  is  very  near  my  heart," 
faltered  Josephine. 

The  doctor  sighed ;  then  said  gently,  "  They  shall  be 
happy :  as  happy  as  you  wish  them." 

Meantime,  in  another  room,  a  reconciliation  scene  was 
taking  place,  and  the  mutual  concessions  of  two  impetu- 
ous but  generous  spirits. 

The  baroness  noticed  the  change  in  Josephine's  appear- 
ance. 

She  asked  Rose  what  could  be  the  matter. 

"  Some  passing  ailment,"  was  the  reply. 

"Passing?  She  has  been  so,  on  and  off,  a  long  time. 
She  makes  me  very  anxious." 

Rose  made  light  of  it  to  her  mother,  but  in  her  own 
heart  she  grew  more  and  more  anxious  day  by  day. 
She  held  secret  conferences  with  Jacintha;  that  saga- 
cious personage  had  a  plan  to  wake  Josephine  from  her 
deathly  languor,  and  even  soothe  her  nerves,  and  check 
those  pitiable  fits  of  nervous  irritation  to  which  she 
had  become  subject.  Unfortunately,  Jacintha's  plan 
was  so  difficult  and  so  dangerous,  that  at  first  even  the 
courageous  Rose  recoiled  from  it ;  but  there  are  dangers 
that  seem  to  diminish  when  you  look  them  long  in  the 
face. 


"WHITE    LIES.  281 

The  whole  party  was  seated  in  the  tapestried  room : 
Jacintha  was  there,  sewing  a  pair  of  sheets,  at  a  respect- 
ful distance  from  the  gentlefolks,  absorbed  in  lier  work  ; 
but  with  both  ears  on  full  cock. 

The  doctor,  holdivig  his  glasses  to  his  eye,  liad  just 
begun  to  read  out  the  Moniteur. 

The  baroness  sat  close  to  him,  Edouard  opposite ;  and 
the  young  ladies  each  in  her  corner  of  a  large  luxurious 
sofa,  at  some  little  distance. 

'• '  The  Austrians  left  seventy  cannon,  eight  thousand  men, 
and  three  colors  \\\)o\\  the  field.  Army  of  the  North  :  General 
Menard  defeated  the  enemy  after  a  severe  engagement,  taking 
thirteen  field-pieces  and  a  quantity  of  ammunition.'  " 

The  baroness  made  a  narrow-minded  remark.  "  That 
is  always  the  way  Avith  these  journals,"  said  she.  "  Aus- 
trians ?  Prussians  !  when  it's  Egypt  one  wants  to  hear 
about."  —  '•'  No,  not  a  word  about  Egypt,"  said  the  doc- 
tor ;  "  but  there  is  a  whole  column  about  the  Rhine, 
where  Colonel  Dujardin  is  —  and  Dard.  If  I  was  dicta- 
tor, the  first  nuisance  I  would  put  down  is  small  type." 
He  then  spelled  out  a  sanguinary  engagement :  '*  eight 
thousand  of  the  enemy  killed.  "We  have  some  losses  to 
lament.     Colonel  Dujardin  "  — 

"  Only  wounded,  I  hope,"  said  the  baroness. 

The  doctor  went  coolly  on.  "  At  the  head  of  the  24th 
brigade  made  a  brilliant  charge  on  the  enemy's  flank, 
that  is  described  in  the  general  order  as  having  decided 
the  fate  of  the  battle." 

"  How  badly  you  do  read,"  said  the  old  lady,  sharply. 
"I  thought  he  was  gone;  instead  of  that  he  has  covered 
himself  with  glory  ;  but  it  is  all  our  doing,  is  it  not, 
young  ladies  ?     We  saved  his  life." 

*^  We  saved  it  amongst  us,  madame." 

"  What  is  the  matter.  Rose  ?  "  said  Edouard. 


282  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Nothing :  give  me  the  salts,  quick." 

She  only  passed  them,  as  it  were,  under  her  own  nos- 
trils ;  then  held  them  to  Josephine,  who  was  now  ob- 
served to  be  trembling  all  over.  Rose  contrived  to  make 
it  appear  that  this  was  mere  sympathy  on  Josephine's 
part. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  girls,"  cried  the  baroness,  cheerfully ; 
"  there  is  nobody  killed  that  we  care  about." 

Dr.  Aubertin  read  the  rest  to  himself. 

Edouard  fell  into  a  gloomy  silence  and  tortured  him- 
self about  Camille,  and  Rose's  anxiety  and  agitation. 

By  and  by  the  new  servant  brought  in  a  letter.  It 
was  the  long-expected  one  from  Egypt. 

"Here  is  something  better  than  salts  for  you.  A 
long  letter,  Josephine,  and  all  in  his  own  hand ;  so  he  is 
safe,  thank  Heaven !  I  was  beginning  to  be  uneasy  again. 
You  frightened  me  for  that  poor  Camille :  but  this  is 
worth  a  dozen  Camilles ;  this  is  my  son ;  I  would  give 
my  old  life  for  him."  —  "My  dear  Mother  —  ('Bless 
him ! '),  my  dear  wife,  and  my  dear  sister  —  ('  Well !  you 
sit  there  like  two  rocks  ! ')  —  We  have  just  gained  a  bat- 
tle —  fifty  colors.  ('  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  ')  All 
the  enemy's  baggage  and  ammunition  are  in  our  hands. 
('  This  is  something  like  a  battle,  this  one.')  Also  the 
Pasha  of  Natolie.  ('  Ah !  the  Pasha  of  Natolie ;  an  im- 
portant personage,  no  doubt,  though  I  never  had  the 
honor  of  hearing  of  him.  Do  you  hear?  —  you  on  the 
sofa.  My  son  has  captured  the  Pasha  of  Natolie.  He 
is  as  brave  as  Caesar.')  But  this  success  is  not  one  of 
those  that  lead  to  important  results  ('Never  mind,  a 
victory  is  a  victory '),  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  Bona- 
parte was  to  dash  home  any  day.  If  so,  I  shall  go  with 
him,  and  perhaps  spend  a  whole  day  with  you,  on  my 
way  to  the  Rhine." 

At  this  prospect  a  ghastly  look  passed  quick  as  light- 
ning between  Rose  and  Josephine. 


White  lies.  283 

The  baroness  beckoned  Josephine  to  come  close  to 
her,  and  read  her  what  followed  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice. 

"■  Tell  iny  wife  I  love  her  more  and  more  every  day. 
I  don't  expect  as  much  from  her,  but  she  will  make  me 
very  happy  if  she  can  make  shift  to  like  me  as  well  as 
her  family  do."  —  "  No  danger  !  What  husband  deserves 
to  be  loved  as  he  does  ?  I  long  for  his  return,  that  his 
wife,  his  mother,  and  his  sister  may  all  combine  to  teach 
this  poor  soldier  what  happiness  means.  We  owe  him 
everything,  Josephine,  and  if  we  did  not  love  him,  and 
make  him  happy,  we  should  be  monsters ;  now  should 
we  not  ?  " 

Josephine  stammered  an  assent. 

"  Now  you  may  read  his  letter :  Jacintha  and  all,"  said 
the  baroness  graciously. 

The  letter  circulated.  Meantime,  the  baroness  con- 
versed with  Aubertin  in  quite  an  undertone. 

"  My  friend,  look  at  Josephine.  That  girl  is  ill,  or 
else  she  is  going  to  be  ill." 

"  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  madame,"  said  Auber- 
tin, looking  her  coolly  in  the  face. 

"But  I  say  she  is.  Is  a  doctor's  eye  keener  than  a 
mother's  ?  " 

"  Considerably,"  replied  the  doctor  with  cool  and  envi- 
able effrontery. 

The  baroness  rose.  "Now,  children,  for  our  evening 
walk.     We  shall  enjoy  it  now." 

"  I  trust  you  may :  but  for  all  that  I  must  forbid  the 
evening  air  to  one  of  the  party  —  to  Madame  Raynal." 

The  baroness  came  to  him  and  whispered,  "That  is 
right.  Thank  you.  See  what  is  the  matter  with  her, 
and  tell  me."     And  she  carried  off  the  rest  of  the  party. 

At  the  same  time  Jacintha  asked  permission  to  pass 
the  rest  of  the  evening  with  her  relations  in  tlie  village. 
But  why   that   swift,  quivering   glance  of   intelligenoe 


284  White  lies. 

between  Jacintha  and  Rose  de  Beaurepaire  when  the 
baroness  said,  "  Yes,  certainly  "  ? 

Time  will  show. 

Josephine  and  the  doctor  were  left  alone.  Now  Joseph- 
ine had  noticed  the  old  people  whisper  and  her  mother 
glance  her  way,  and  the  whole  woman  was  on  her  guard. 
She  assumed  a  languid  complacency,  and  by  way  of 
shield,  if  necessary,  took  some  work,  and  bent  her  eyes 
and  apparently  her  attention  on  it. 

The  doctor  was  silent  and  ill  at  ease. 

She  saw  he  had  something  weighty  on  his  mind.  "The 
air  would  have  done  me  no  harm,"  said  she. 

"Neither  will  a  few  words  with  me." 

"Oh,  no,  dear  friend.  Only  I  think  I  should  have 
liked  a  little  walk  this  evening." 

"  Josephine,"  said  the  doctor  quietly,  "  when  you  were 
a  child  I  saved  your  life." 

"  I  have  often  heard  my  mother  speak  of  it.  I  was 
choked  by  the  croup,  and  you  had  the  courage  to  lance 
my  windpipe." 

"  Had  I  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  with  a  smile.  He  added 
gravely,  "It  seems  then  that  to  be  cruel  is  sometimes 
kindness.  It  is  the  nature  of  men  to  love  those  whose 
life  they  save." 

"  And  they  love  you." 

"Well,  our  affection  is  not  perfect.  I  don't  know  which 
is  most  to  blame,  but  after  all  these  years  I  have  failed 
to  inspire  you  with  confidence."  The  doctor's  voice  was 
sad,  and  Josephine's  bosom  panted. 

"  Pray  do  not  say  so,"  she  cried.  "  I  would  trust  you 
with  my  life." 

"  But  not  with  your  secret." 

"My  secret!     What  secret?     I  have  no  secrets." 

"  Josephine,  you  have  now  for  full  twelve  months  suf- 
fered in  body  and  mind,  yet  you  have  never  come  to  me 


WHITE   LIES.  285 

for  counsel,  for  comfort,  for  an  old  man's  experience 
and  advice,  nor  even  for  medical  aid." 

"  But,  dear  friend,  I  assure  you  "  — 

"  We  do  not  deceive  our  friend.  We  cannot  deceive 
our  doctor." 

Josephine  trembled,  but  defended  herself  after  the 
manner  of  her  sex.  "  Dear  doctor,"  said  she,  "  I  love 
you  all  the  better  for  this.  Your  regard  for  me  has 
for  once  blinded  your  science.  I  am  not  so  robust  as 
you  have  known  me,  but  there  is  nothing  serious  the 
matter  with  me.  Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  Be- 
sides, it  is  not  interesting  to  talk  about  one's  self," 

"Very  well;  since  there  is  nothing  serious  or  interest- 
ing in  your  case,  we  will  talk  about  something  that  is 
both  serious  and  interesting." 

"  With  all  my  heart ;  "  and  she  smiled  with  a  sense  of 
relief. 

But  the  doctor  leaned  over  the  table  to  her,  and  said 
in  a  cautious  and  most  emphatic  whisper,  "  We  will  talk 

about  YOUR  CHILD." 

The  work  dropped  from  Josephine's  hands  :  she  turned 
her  face  wildly  on  Aubertin,  and  faltered  out,  *'  M — iuy 
child  ?  " 

"  My  words  are  plain,"  replied  he  gravely.     "  Your 

CHILD." 

When  the  doctor  repeated  these  words,  when  Joseph- 
ine looking  in  his  face  saw  he  spoke  from  knowledge, 
however  acquired,  and  not  from  guess,  she  glided  down 
slowly  off  the  sofa  and  clasped  his  knees  as  he  stood 
before  her,  and  hid  her  face  in  an  agony  of  shame  and 
terror  on  his  knees. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  sobbed.  "Pray  do  not  expose  me  ! 
Do  not  destroy  me." 

"Unhappy  young  lady,"  said  he,  "did  you  think  you 
had  deceived  me,  or  that  you  are  lit  to  deceive  any  but 


286  WHITE   LIES. 

the  blind  ?  Your  face,  your  anguish  after  Colonel  Du- 
jardin's  departure,  your  languor,  and  then  your  sudden 
robustness,  your  appetite,  your  caprices,  your  strange 
sojourn  at  Frejus,  your  changed  looks  and  loss  of  health 
on  your  return  !  Josephine,  your  old  friend  has  passed 
many  an  hour  thinking  of  you,  divining  your  folly,  fol- 
lowing your  trouble  step  by  step.  Yet  you  never  invited 
hira  to  aid  you." 

Josephine  faltered  out  a  lame  excuse.  If  she  had 
revered  him  less  she  could  have  borne  to  confess  to  him. 
She  added  it  would  be  a  relief  to  her  to  confide  in  him. 

"Then  tell  me  all,"  said  he. 

She  consented  almost  eagerly,  and  told  him  —  nearly 
all.  The  old  man  was  deeply  affected.  He  murmured 
in  a  broken  voice,  "■  Your  story  is  the  story  of  your  sex, 
self-sacrifice,  first  to  your  mother,  then  to  Camille,  now 
to  your  husband." 

"  And  he  is  well  worthy  of  any  sacrifice  I  can  make," 
said  Josephine.     "  But  oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  live !  " 

"  I  hope  to  make  it  less  hard  to  you  ere  long,"  said 
the  doctor  quietly.  He  then  congratulated  himself  on 
having  forced  Josephine  to  confide  in  him.  "  For,"  said 
he,  "you  never  needed  an  experienced  friend  more  than 
at  this  moment.  Your  mother  will  not  always  be  so 
blind  as  of  late.  Edouard  is  suspicious.  Jacintha  is  a 
shrewd  young  woman,  and  very  inquisitive." 

Josephine  was  not  at  the  end  of  her  concealments  :  she 
was  ashamed  to  let  him  know  she  had  made  a  confidant 
of  Jacintha  and  not  of  him.     She  held  her  peace. 

"  Then,"  continued  Aubertin,  "  there  is  the  terrible 
chance  of  Raynal's  return.  But  ere  I  take  on  me  to 
advise  you,  what  are  your  own  plans  ?  " 

"/don't  know,"  said  Josephine  helplessly. 

"You  —  don't  —  know!"  cried  the  doctor,  looking  at 
her  in  utter  amazement. 


WHITE   LIES.  287 

"It  is  the  answer  of  a  mad  woman,  is  it  not  ?  Doctor, 
I  am  little  better.  My  foot  has  slipped  on  the  edge  of 
a  precipice.  I  close  my  eyes,  and  let  myself  glide  down 
it.     What  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

"All  shall  be  well,"  said  Aubertin,  "provided  you  do 
not  still  love  that  man." 

Josephine  did  not  immediately  reply :  her  thoughts 
turned  inwards.  The  good  doctor  was  proceeding  to  con- 
gratulate her  on  being  cured  of  a  fatal  passion,  when  she 
stopped  him  with  wonder  in  her  face.  "  Not  love  him ! 
How  can  I  help  loving  him  ?  I  was  his  betrothed.  I 
wronged  him  in  my  thoughts.  War,  prison,  anguish, 
could  not  kill  him;  he  loved  me  so.  He  struggled 
bleeding  to  my  feet;  and  could  1  let  him  die,  after 
all  ?  Could  1  be  crueller  than  prison,  and  torture,  and 
despair?" 

The  doctor  sighed  deeply ;  but,  arming  himself  with 
the  necessary  resolution,  he  sternly  replied,  "A  woman 
of  your  name  cannot  vacillate  between  love  and  honor; 
such  vacillations  have  but  one  end.  I  will  not  let  you 
drift  a  moral  wreck  between  passion  and  virtue ;  and 
that  is  what  it  will  come  to  if  you  hesitate  now." 

"  Hesitate  !  Who  can  say  I  have  hesitated  where  my 
honor  was  concerned  ?  You  can  read  our  bodies  then, 
but  not  our  hearts.  What !  you  see  me  so  pale,  forlorn, 
and  dead,  and  that  does  not  tell  you  1  have  bid  Camille 
farewell  forever  ?  That  we  might  be  safer  still  1  have 
not  even  told  him  he  is  a  father :  was  ever  woman  so 
cruel  as  I  am  ?  I  have  written  him  but  one  letter,  and 
in  that  I  must  deceive  him.  I  told  him  1  thought  I 
might  one  day  be  happy,  if  I  could  hear  that  he  did  not 
give  way  to  despair.  I  told  him  we  must  never  meet 
again  in  this  world.  So  now  come  what  will :  show  me 
my  duty  and  I  will  do  it.  This  endless  deceit  bui-ns  my 
heart.     Shall  I  tell  my  husband  ?     It  will   be   but  one 


288  WHITE    LIES. 

pang  more,  one  blush  more  for  me.  But  my  mother !  " 
and,  thus  appealed  to.  Dr.  Aubertin  felt,  for  the  first 
time,  all  the  difficulty  of  the  situation  he  had  undertaken 
to  cure.     He  hesitated,  he  was  embarrassed. 

"  Ah,"  said  Josephine,  "  you  see."  Then,  after  a  short 
silence,  she  said  despairingly,  "  This  is  my  only  hope : 
that  poor  Raynal  will  be  long  absent,  and  that  ere  he 
returns  mamma  will  lie  safe  from  sorrow  and  shame  in 
the  little  chapel.  Doctor,  Avhen  a  woman  of  my  age 
forms  such  wishes  as  these,  I  think  you  might  pity  her, 
and  forgive  her  ill-treatment  of  you,  for  she  cannot  be 
very  happy.     Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  ah  me  !  " 

"  Courage,  poor  soul !  All  is  now  in  my  hands,  and  I 
will  save  you,"  said  the  doctor,  his  voice  trembling  in 
spite  of  him.  "  Guilt  lies  in  the  intention.  A  more 
innocent  woman  than  you  does  not  breathe.  Two  courses 
lay  open  to  you:  to  leave  this  house  with  Camille  Du- 
jardin,  or  to  dismiss  him,  and  live  for  your  hard  duty 
till  it  shall  please  Heaven  to  make  that  duty  easy  (no 
middle  course  was  tenable  for  a  day) ;  of  these  two  paths 
you  chose  the  right  one,  and,  having  chosen,  I  really 
think  you  are  not  called  on  to  reveal  your  misfortune, 
and  make  those  unhappy  to  whose  happiness  you  have 
sacrificed  your  own  for  years  to  come." 

"  Forever,"  said  Josephine  quietly. 

"  The  young  use  that  word  lightly.  The  old  have 
almost  ceased  to  use  it.  They  have  seen  how  few  earthly 
things  can  conquer  time." 

He  resumed,  "  You  think  only  of  others,  Josephine, 
but  I  shall  think  of  you  as  well.  I  shall  not  allow 
your  life  to  be  wasted  in  a  needless  struggle  against 
nature."  Then  turning  to  Rose,  who  had  glided  into 
the  room,  and  stood  amazed,  "  Her  griefs  were  as  many 
before  her  child  was  born,  yet  her  health  stood  firm. 
Why  ?   because  nature    was  on  her  side.     Now  she   is 


WHITE    LIES.  289 

sinking  into  the  grave.  Why  ?  because  she  is  defying 
nature.  Nature  intended  her  to  be  pressing  her  child  to 
her  bosom  day  and  night;  instead  of  that,  a  peasant 
woman  at  Frejus  nurses  the  child,  and  the  mother  pines 
at  Beaurepaire." 

At  this,  Josephine  leaned  her  face  on  her  hands  on 
the  doctor's  shoulder.  In  this  attitude  she  murmured  to 
him,  "I  have  never  seen  him  since  I  left  Frejus."  Dr. 
Aubertin  sighed  for  her.  Emboldened  by  this,  she 
announced  her  intention  of  going  to  Frejus  the  very 
next  day  to  see  her  little  Henri.  But  to  this  Dr.  Auber- 
tin demurred.  "  What,  another  journey  to  Frejus  ?"  said 
he,  "  when  the  first  has  already  roused  Edouard's  sus- 
picions ;  1  can  never  consent  to  that." 

Then  Josephine  surprised  them  both.  She  dropped 
her  coaxing  voice  and  pecked  the  doctor  like  an  irritated 
pigeon.  "Take  care,"  said  she,  "don't  be  too  cruel  to 
me.  You  see  1  am  obedient,  resigned.  I  have  given  up 
all  I  lived  for :  but  if  I  am  never  to  have  my  little  boy's 
arms  round  me  to  console  me,  then  —  why  torment  me 
any  longer  ?  Why  not  say  to  me,  '  Josephine,  you  have 
offended  Heaven  ;  pray  for  pardon,  and  die  '  ?  " 

Then  the  doctor  was  angry  in  his  turn.  "  Oh,  go 
then,"  said  he,  "  go  to  Frejus ;  you  will  have  Edouard 
Riviere  for  a  companion  this  time.  Your  first  visit 
roused  his  suspicions.  So  before  you  go  tell  your  mother 
all ;  for  since  she  is  sure  to  find  it  out,  she  had  better 
hear  it  from  you  than  from  another." 

"  Doctor,  have  pity  on  me,"  said  Josephine. 

"  You  have  no  heart,"  said  Rose.  "  She  shall  see  him 
though,  in  spite  of  you." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he  has  a  heart,"  said  Josephine  :  "he  is  my 
best  friend.     He  will  let  me  see  my  boy." 

All  this,  and  the  tearful  eyes  and  coaxing  yet  trem- 
bling voice,  was  hard  to  resist.    But  Aubertin  saw  clearly, 


290  WHITE   LIES. 

and  stood  firm.  He  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  a 
moment:  then  took  the  pining  young  mother's  hand. 
"  And,  do  you  think,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  pity  you  and 
love  your  boy  ?  Ah  !  he  will  never  want  a  father  whilst 
I  live ;  and  from  this  moment  he  is  under  my  care.  I 
will  go  to  see  him  ;  I  will  bring  you  news,  and  all  in 
good  time ;  I  will  place  him  where  you  shall  visit  him 
without  imprudence ;  but,  for  the  present,  trust  a  wiser 
head  than  yours  or  Rose's;  and  give  me  your  sacred 
jiromise  not  to  go  to  Frejus." 

Weighed  down  by  his  good-sense  and  kindness,  Joseph- 
ine resisted  no  longer  in  words.  She  just  lifted  her 
hands  in  despair  and  began  to  cry.  It  was  so  piteous, 
Aubertin  was  ready  to  yield  in  turn,  and  consent  to  any 
imprudence,  when  he  met  with  an  unexpected  ally. 

"  Promise,"  said  Rose,  doggedly. 

Josephine  looked  at  her  calmly  through  her  tears. 

"Promise,  dear,"  repeated  Rose,  and  this  time  with 
an  intonation  so  fine  that  it  attracted  Josejjhine's  notice, 
but  not  the  doctor's.  It  was  followed  by  a  glance  equally 
subtle. 

"  I  promise,"  said  Josephine,  with  her  eye  fixed  in- 
quiringly on  her  sister. 

For  once  she  could  not  make  the  telegraph  out :  but 
she  could  see  it  was  playing,  and  that  was  enough.  She 
did  what  Rose  bid  her;  she  promised  not  to  go  to  Frejus 
without  leave. 

Finding  her  so  submissive  all  of  a  sudden,  he  went  on 
to  suggest  that  she  must  not  go  kissing  every  child  she 
saw.  "  Edouard  tells  me  he  saw  you  kissing  a  beggars 
brat.  The  young  rogue  was  going  to  quiz  you  about  it 
at  the  dinner-table ;  luckily,  he  told  me  his  intention, 
and  I  would  not  let  him.  I  said  the  baroness  would  be 
annoyed  with  you  for  descending  from  your  dignity  — 
and  exposing  a  noble  family  to  fleas  —  hush  !  here  he  is." 


WHITE   LIES.  291 

"  Tiresome ! "  muttered  Rose,  "  just  when  "  — 

Edouard  came  forward  with  a  half-vexed  face. 

However,  he  turned  it  off  into  play.  ''  What  have  you 
been  saying  to  her,  monsieur,  to  interest  her  so  ?  Give 
me  a  leaf  out  of  your  book.     I  need  it." 

The  doctor  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment,  but  at  last 
he  said  slyly,  "I  have  been  proposing  to  her  to  name  the 
day.  She  says  she  must  consult  you  before  she  decides 
that." 

"Oh,  you  wicked  doctor!  —  and  consult  him  of  all 
people  ! " 

"  So  be  off,  both  of  you,  and  don't  reappear  before  me 
till  it  is  settled." 

Edouard's  eyes  sparkled.  Rose  went  out  with  a  face 
as  red  as  fire. 

It  was  a  balmy  evening.  Edouard  was  to  leave  them 
for  a  week  the  next  dcty.  They  were  alone  :  Rose  Avas 
determined  he  should  go  away  quite  happy.  Everything 
was  in  Edouard's  favor :  he  pleaded  his  cause  warmly  : 
she  listened  tenderly  :  this  happy  evening  her  piquancy 
and  archness  seemed  to  dissolve  into  tenderness  as  she 
and  Edouard  walked  hand  in  hand  under  the  moon  :  a 
tenderness  all  the  more  heavenly  to  her  devoted  lover, 
that  she  was  not  one  of  those  angels  who  cloy  a  man  by 
invariable  sweetness. 

For  a  little  while  she  forgot  everything  but  her  com- 
panion. In  that  soft  hour  he  won  her  to  name  the  day, 
after  her  fashion. 

"Josephine  goes  to  Paris  with  the  doctor  in  about 
three  weeks,"  murmured  she. 

"And  you  will  stay  behind,  all  alone  ?  " 

"Alone  ?  that  shall  depend  on  you,  monsieur." 

On  this  Edouard  caught  her  for  the  first  time  in  his 
arms. 

She  made  a  faint  resistance. 


292  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Seal  me  that  promise,  sweet  one ! " 

"No!  no!  — there!" 

He  pressed  a  delicious  first  kiss  upon  two  velvet  lips 
that  in  their  innocence  scarcely  shunned  the  sweet  attack. 

For  all  that,  the  bond  was  no  sooner  sealed  after  this 
fashion,  than  the  lady's  cheek  began  to  burn. 

"  Suppose  we  go  in  now  ?  "  said  she,  dryly. 

"  Ah,  not  yet." 

"  It  is  late,  dear  Edouard." 

And  with  these  words  something  returned  to  her  mind 
with  its  full  force :  something  that  Edouard  had  actually 
made  her  forget.     She  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him  now. 

"  Edouard,"  said  she,  "  can  you  get  up  early  in  the 
morning  ?  If  you  can,  meet  me  here  to-morrow  before 
any  of  them  are  up ;  then  we  can  talk  without  interrup- 
tion." 

Edouard  was  delighted. 

«  Eight  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Sooner  if  you  like.  Mamma  bade  me  come  and  read 
to  her  in  her  room  to-night.  She  will  be  waiting  for  me. 
Is  it  not  tiresome  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"  Well,  we  must  not  mind  that,  dear ;  in  three  weeks' 
time  we  are  to  have  too  much  of  one  another,  you  know, 
instead  of  too  little." 

"  Too  much  !  I  shall  never  have  enough  of  you.  I  shall 
hate  the  night  which  will  rob  me  of  the  sight  of  you  for 
so  many  hours  in  the  twenty-four." 

"  If  you  can't  see  me,  perhaps  you  may  hear  me ;  my 
tongue  runs  by  night  as  well  as  by  day." 

"Well,  that  is  a  comfort,"  said  Edouard,  gravely. 
"  Yes,  little  quizzer,  I  would  rather  hear  you  scold  than 
an  angel  sing.  Judge,  then,  what  music  it  is  when  you 
say  you  love  me  ! " 

"  I  love  you,  Edouard." 


WHITE   LIES.  293 

Edouard  kissed  her  hand  warmly,  and  then  looked 
irresolutelj'  at  her  face. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  she,  laughing  and  blushing.  "  How 
rude  you  are.     Next  time  we  meet." 

"  That  is  a  bargain.  But  I  won't  go  till  you  say  you 
love  me  again." 

"Edouard,  don't  be  silly.  I  am  ashamed  of  saying 
the  same  thing  so  often  —  I  won't  say  it  any  more. 
What  is  the  use  ?  You  know  I  love  you.  There,  I  have 
said  it :  how  stupid  !  " 

"  Adieu,  then,  my  wife  that  is  to  be." 

"  Adieu  !  dear  Edouard." 

"■  My  hus  —  go  on  —  my  hus  —  " 

"  My  huswife  that  shall  be." 

Then  they  walked  very  slowly  towards  the  house,  and 
once  more  Rose  left  quizzing,  and  was  all  tenderness. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in,  and  bid  them  ^  good-night '  ?  " 

"  No,  my  own  ;  T  am  in  heaven.  Common  faces  — 
common  voices  would  bring  me  down  to  earth.  Let  me 
be  alone;  —  your  sweet  words  ringing  in  my  ear.  I  will 
dilute  you  with  nothing  meaner  than  the  stars.  See  how 
bright  they  shine  in  heaven;  but  not  so  bright  as  you 
shine  in  my  heart." 

"Dear  Edouard,  you  flatter  me,  you  spoil  me.  Alas! 
why  am  T  not  more  worthy  of  your  love  ?  " 

"  More  worthy  !     How  can  that  be  ?  " 

Rose  sighed. 

"But  T  will  atone  for  all.  I  will  make  you  a  better  — 
(here  she  substituted  a  full  stop  for  a  substantive) — 
than  you  expect.     You  will  see  else." 

She  lingered  at  the  door :  a  proof  that  if  Edouard,  at 
that  particular  moment,  had  seized  another  kiss,  there 
would  have  been  no  very  violent  opposition  or  offence. 

But  he  was  not  so  impudent  as  some.  He  had  been 
told  to  wait  till  the  next  meeting  for  that.     He  prayed 


294  WHITE   LIES. 

Heaven  to  bless  her,  and  so  the  affianced  lovers  parted 
for  the  night. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock,  Edonard,  instead  of  return- 
ing to  his  lodgings,  started  down  towards  the  town,  to 
conclude  a  bargain  with  the  innkeeper  for  an  English 
mare  he  Avas  in  treaty  for.  He  wanted  her  for  to-mor- 
row's work  ;  so  that  decided  him  to  make  the  purchase. 
In  purchases,  as  in  other  matters,  a  feather  turns  the 
balanced  scale.  He  sauntered  leisurely  down.  It  was  a 
very  clear  night;  the  full  moon  and  the  stars  shining 
silvery  and  vivid.  Edouard's  heart  swelled  with  joy. 
He  was  loved  after  all,  deeply  loved ;  and  in  three  short 
weeks  he  was  actually  to  be  Rose's  husband :  her  lord 
and  master.  How  like  a  heavenly  dream  it  all  seemed 
—  the  first  hopeless  courtship,  and  now  the  wedding 
fixed  !  But  it  was  no  dream ;  he  felt  her  soft  words  still 
murmur  music  at  his  heart,  and  the  shadow  of  her  velvet 
lips  slept  upon  his  own. 

He  had  strolled  about  a  league  when  he  heard  the  ring 
of  a  horse's  hoofs  coming  towards  him,  accompanied  by 
a  clanking  noise ;  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  till  it 
reached  a  hill  that  lay  a  little  ahead  of  Edouard  ;  then 
the  sounds  ceased  ;  the  cavalier  was  walking  his  horse 
up  the  hill. 

Presently,  as  if  they  had  started  from  the  earth,  up 
popped  between  Edouard  and  the  sky,  first  a  cocked  hat 
that  seemed  in  that  light  to  be  cut  with  a  razor  out  of 
flint ;  then  the  wearer,  phosphorescent  here  and  there ; 
so  brightly  the  keen  moonlight  played  on  his  epaulets 
and  steel  scabbard.  A  step  or  two  nearer,  and  Edouard 
gave  a  great  shout ;  it  was  Colonel  Raynal. 

After  the  first  warm  greeting,  and  questions  and 
answers,  Raynal  told  him  he  was  on  his  way  to  the 
Rhine  with  despatches. 

*'  To  the  Rhine  ?  " 


WHITE    LIES.  295 

"  I  am  allowed  six  days  to  get  there.  I  made  a  calcu- 
lation, and  found  I  could  give  Beaurepaire  half  a  day. 
I  shall  have  to  make  up  for  it  by  hard  riding.  You 
know  me ;  always  in  a  hurry.  It  is  Bonaparte's  fault 
this  time.     He  is  always  in  a  hurry  too." 

"  Why,  colonel,"  said  Edouard,  "  let  us  make  haste 
then.     Mind  they  go  early  to  rest  at  the  chateau." 

"  But  you  are  not  coming  my  way,  youngster  ?  " 

"  Not  coming  your  way  ?  Yes,  but  I  am.  Yours  is  a 
face  I  don't  see  every  day,  colonel ;  besides  I  would  not 
miss  their  faces,  especially  the  baroness's  and  Madame 
Raynal's,  at  sight  of  you ;  and,  besides,"  —  and  the 
young  gentleman  chuckled  to  himself,  and  thought  of 
Rose's  words,  "  the  next  time  we  meet ;  "  well,  this  will 
be  the  next  time.     "  May  I  jump  up  behind  ?  " 

Colonel  Raynal  nodded  assent.  Edouard  took  a  run, 
and  lighted  like  a  monkey  on  the  horse's  crupper.  He 
pranced  and  kicked  at  this  unexpected  addition ;  but  the 
spur  being  promptly  applied  to  his  flanks,  he  bounded 
off  with  a  snort  that  betrayed  more  astonishment  than 
satisfaction,  and  away  they  cantered  to  Beaurepaire, 
without  drawing  rein. 

'•  There,"  said  Edouard,  *- 1  was  afraid  they  would  be 
gone  to  bed ;  and  they  are.  The  very  house  seems 
asleep —  fancy  —  at  half-past  ten." 

'•That  is  a  pity,"  said  Raynal,  "for  this  chateau  is  the 
stronghold  of  etiquette.  They  will  be  two  hours  dress- 
ing before  they  will  come  out  and  shake  hands.  I  must 
put  my  horse  into  the  stable.  Go  you  and  give  the 
alarm." 

"  I  will,  colonel.  Stop,  first  let  me  see  whether  none 
of  them  are  up,  after  all." 

And  Edouard  walked  round  the  chateau,  and  soon  dis- 
covered a  light  at  one  window,  the  window  of  the 
tapestried  room.    Running  round  the  other  way  he  came 


296  WHITE   LIES. 

slap  upon  another  light :  this  one  was  nearer  the  ground. 
Al  narrow  but  massive  door,  which  he  had  always  seen 
not  only  locked  but  screwed  up,  was  wide  open  ;  and 
through  the  aperture  the  light  of  a  candle  streamed  out 
and  met  the  moonlight  streaming  in. 

"  Hallo  ! "  cried  Edouard. 

He  stopped,  turned,  and  looked  in. 

"  Hallo  !  "  he  cried  again  much  louder. 

A  young  woman  was  sleeping  with  her  feet  in  the 
silvery  moonlight,  and  her  head  in  the  orange-colored 
blaze  of  a  flat  candle,  which  rested  on  the  next  step 
above  of  a  fine  stone  staircase,  whose  existence  was  now 
first  revealed  to  the  inquisitive  Edouard. 

Coming  plump  upon  all  this  so  unexpectedly,  he  quite 
started. 

"  Why,  Jacintha !  " 

He  touched  her  on  the  shoulder  to  wake  her.  Ko. 
Jacintha  was  sleeping  as  only  tired  domestics  can  sleep. 
He  might  have  taken  the  candle  and  burnt  her  gown  off 
her  back.  She  had  found  a  step  that  fitted  into  the 
small  of  her  back,  and  another  that  supported  her  head, 
and  there  she  was  fast  as  a  door. 

At  this  moment  Eaynal's  voice  was  heard  calling  him. 

"  There  is  a  light  in  that  bedroom." 

'•  It  is  not  a  bedroom,  colonel ;  it  is  our  sitting-rooui 
now.  We  shall  find  them  all  there,  or  at  least  the  young 
ladies ;  and  perhaps  the  doctor.  The  baroness  goes  to 
bed  early.  Meantime  I  can  show  you  one  of  our 
dramatis  personoe,  and  an  important  one  too.  She  rules 
the  roost." 

He  took  him  mysteriously  and  showed  him  Jacintha. 

Moonlight  by  itself  seems  white,  and  candlelight  by 
itself  seems  yellow ;  but  when  the  two  come  into  close 
contrast  at  night,  candle  turns  a  reddish  flame,  and 
moonlight  a  bluish  pleam. 


\\  1  r  '-^''mf^:-t 


7    /-: 


IT    WAS    COLONEL    RAYNAL 


WHITE  LIES.  297 

So  Jacintha,  with  her  shoes  in  this  celestial  sheen, 
and  her  face  in  that  demoniacal  glare,  was  enough  to 
knock  the  gazer's  eye  out. 

"Make  a  good  sentinel  —  this  one,"  said  Raynal  — 
"an  outlying  picket  for  instance,  on  rough  ground,  in 
front  of  the  enemy's  riflemen." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  colonel !  Let  us  see  where  this  staircase 
leads.     I  have  an  idea  it  will  prove  a  short  cut." 

"  Where  to  ?  " 

"To  the  saloon,  or  somewhere,  or  else  to  some  of 
Jacintha's  haunts.  Serve  her  right  for  going  to  sleep  at 
the  mouth  of  her  den." 

"Forward  then — no,  halt!  Suppose  it  leads  to  the 
bedrooms  ?  Mind  this  is  a  thundering  place  for  cere- 
mony. We  shall  get  drummed  out  of  the  barracks  if  we 
don't  mind  our  etiquette." 

At  this  they  hesitated  ;  and  Edouard  himself  thought, 
on  the  whole,  it  would  be  better  to  go  and  hammer  at 
the  fi'ont  door. 

Now  while  they  hesitated,  a  soft  delicious  harmony  of 
female  voices  suddenly  rose,  and  seemed  to  come  and 
run  round  the  walls.  The  men  looked  at  one  another  in 
astonishment ;  for  the  effect  was  magical.  The  staircase 
being  enclosed  on  all  sides  with  stone  walls  and  floored 
with  stone,  they  were  like  flies  inside  a  violoncello ;  the 
voices  rang  above,  below,  and  on  every  side  of  the  vibra- 
ting walls.  In  some  epochs  spirits  as  hardy  as  Raynal's, 
and  wits  as  quick  as  Riviere's,  would  have  fled  then  and 
there  to  the  nearest  public,  and  told  over  cups  how  they 
had  heard  the  dames  of  Beaurepaire,  long  since  dead, 
holding  their  revel,  and  the  conscious  old  devil's  nest  of 
a  chateau  quivering  to  the  ghostly  strains. 

But  this  was  an  incredulous  age.  They  listened,  and 
listened,  and  decided  the  sounds  came  from  up-stairs. 

"  Let  us  mount,  and  surprise  these  singing  witches," 
said  Edouard. 


298  WHITE   LIES. 

"Surprise  them!  what  for?  It  is  not  the  enemy— ^ 
for  once.     What  is  the  good  of  surprising  our  friends  ?  " 

Storming  parties  and  surprises  were  no  novelty  and 
therefore  no  treat  to  Raynal. 

"  It  will  be  so  delightful  to  see  their  faces  at  first  sight 
of  you.  0  colonel,  for  my  sake  !  Don't  spoil  it  by 
going  tamely  in  at  the  front  door,  after  coming  at  night 
from  Egypt  for  half  an  hour." 

Raynal  grumbled  something  about  its  being  a  childish 
trick ;  but  to  please  Edouard  consented  at  last ;  only 
stipulated  for  a  light:  "or  else,"  said  he,  "we  shall 
surprise  ourselves  instead  with  a  broken  neck,  going 
over  ground  we  don't  know  to  surprise  the  natives  — 
our  skirmishers  got  nicked  that  way  now  and  then  in 
Egypt." 

"Yes,  colonel,  I  will  go  first  with  Jacintha's  candle." 
Edouard  mounted  the  stairs  on  tiptoe.  Raynal  followed. 
The  solid  stone  steps  did  not  prate.  The  men  had 
mounted  a  considerable  way,  when  puff  a  blast  of  wind 
came  through  a  hole,  and  out  went  Edouard's  candle. 
He  turned  sharply  round  to  Raynal.  "  Peste  !  "  said  he 
in  a  vicious  whisper.  But  the  other  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  whispered,  "  Look  to  the  front."  He  looked, 
and,  his  own  candle  being  out,  saw  a  glimmer  on  ahead. 
He  crept  towards  it.  It  was  a  taper  shooting  a  feeble 
light  across  a  small  aperture.  They  caught  a  glimpse  of 
what  seemed  to  be  a  small  apartment.  Yet  Edouard 
recognized  the  carpet  of  the  tapestried  room  —  which 
was  a  very  large  room.  Creeping  a  yard  nearer,  he  dis- 
covered that  it  was  the  tapestried  room,  and  that  what 
had  seemed  the  further  wall  was  only  the  screen,  behind 
which  were  lights,  and  two  women  singing  a  duet. 

He  whispered  to  Raynal,  "  It  is  the  tapestried  room." 

"Is  it  a  sitting-room  ?  "  whispered  Raynal. 

"  Yes !  yes  !  Mind  and  not  knock  your  foot  against 
the  wood." 


WHITE   LIES.  299 

And  Raynal  went  softly  up  and  put  his  foot  quietly 
through  the  aperture,  which  he  now  saw  was  made  by  a 
panel  drawn  back  close  to  the  ground  ;  and  stood  in  the 
tapestried  chamber.  The  carpet  was  thick;  the  voices 
favored  the  stealthy  advance ;  the  floor  of  the  old  house 
was  like  a  rock ;  and  Edouard  put  his  face  through  the 
aperture,  glowing  all  over  with  anticipation  of  the  little 
scream  of  joy  that  would  welcome  his  friend  dropping  in 
so  nice  and  suddenly  from  Egypt. 

The  feeling  was  rendered  still  more  piquant  by  a  sharp 
curiosity  that  had  been  growing  on  him  for  some  minutes 
past.  For  why  was  this  passage  opened  to-night  ?  —  he 
had  never  seen  it  opened  before.  And  why  was  Jacintha 
lying  sentinel  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  ? 

But  this  was  not  all.  Now  that  they  were  in  the  room 
both  men  became  conscious  of  another  sound  besides  the 
ladies'  voices  — a  very  peculiar  sound.  It  also  came  from 
behind  the  screen.  They  both  heard  it,  and  showed,  by 
the  puzzled  looks  they  cast  at  one  another,  that  neither 
could  make  out  what  on  earth  it  was.  It  consisted  of  a 
succession  of  little  rustles,  followed  by  little  thumps  on 
the  floor. 

But  what  was  curious,  too,  this  rustle,  thump  —  rustle, 
thump  —  fell  exactly  into  the  time  of  the  music;  so 
that,  clearly,  either  the  rustle  thump  was  being  played 
to  the  tune,  or  the  tune  sung  to  the  rustle  thump. 

This  last  touch  of  mystery  inflamed  Edouard's  im- 
patience beyond  bearing  :  he  pointed  eagerly  and  merrily 
to  the  corner  of  the  screen.  Raynal  obeyed,  and  stepped 
very  slowly  and  cautiously  towards  it. 

Rustle,  thump!  rustle,  thump!  rustle,  thump!  with 
the  rhythm  of  harmonious  voices. 

Edouard  got  his  head  and  foot  into  the  room  without 
taking  his  eye  off  Raynal. 

Rustle,  thump  !  rustle,  thump  !  rustic,  thump  ! 


300  WHITE   LIES. 

Rayual  was  iioav  at  the  screen,  and  quietly  put  his 
head  round  it,  and  his  hand  upon  it. 

Edouard  was  bursting  with  expectation. 

No  result.  What  is  this  ?  Don't  they  see  him  ? 
Why  does  he  not  speak  to  them  ?  He  seems  trans- 
fixed. 

Rustle,  thump !  rustle,  thump ;  accompanied  now  for 
a  few  notes  by  one  voice  only,  Rose's. 

Suddenly  there  burst  a  shriek  from  Josephine,  so 
loud,  so  fearful,  that  it  made  even  Raynal  stagger  back 
a  step,  the  screen  in  his  hand. 

Then  another  scream  of  terror  and  anguish  from  Rose. 
Then  a  fainter  cry,  and  the  heavy  helpless  fall  of  a 
human  body. 

Raynal  sprang  forward  whirling  the  screen  to  the 
earth  in  terrible  agitation,  and  Edouard  bounded  over  it 
as  it  fell  at  his  feet.  He  did  not  take  a  second  step. 
The  scene  that  caught  his  eye  stupefied  and  paralyzed 
him  in  full  career,  and  froze  him  to  the  spot  with  amaze- 
ment and  strange  misgivings. 


WHITE   LIES.  301 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  Eose.  She  parted  from 
Edouard,  and  went  in  at  the  front  door:  but  the  next 
moment  she  opened  it  softly  and  watched  her  lover 
unseen.  "Dear  Edouard!"  she  murmured:  and  then 
she  thought,  "how  sad  it  is  that  I  must  deceive  him, 
even  to-night :  must  make  up  an  excuse  to  get  him  from 
me,  when  we  were  so  happy  together.  Ah !  he  little 
knows  how  I  shall  welcome  our  wedding-day.  When 
once  I  can  see  my  poor  martyr  on  the  road  to  peace  and 
content  under  the  good  doctor's  care.  And  oh  !  the  hap- 
piness of  having  no  more  secrets  from  him  I  love ! 
Dear  Edouard !  when  once  we  are  married,  I  never, 
never,  will  have  a  secret  from  you  again  —  I  swear  it." 

As  a  comment  on  these  words  she  now  stepped  cau- 
tiously out,  and  peered  in  every  direction. 

"St — st!"  she  whispered.  No  answer  came  to  this 
signal. 

Rose  returned  into  the  house  and  bolted  the  door  in- 
side. She  went  up  to  the  tapestried  room,  and  found  the 
doctor  in  the  act  of  wishing  Josephine  good-night.  The 
baroness,  fatigued  a  little  by  her  walk,  had  mounted  no 
higher  than  her  own  bedroom,  which  was  on  the  first 
floor  just  under  the  tapestried  room.  Rose  followed  the 
doctor  out.  "Dear  friend,  one  word.  Josephine  talked 
of  telling  Raynal.  You  have  not  encouraged  her  to  do 
that  ?  " 

"Certainly  not,  while  he  is  in  Egypt." 

"  Still  less  on  his  return.  Doctor,  you  don't  know  that 
man.     Josephine  does  not  know  him.     But  I  do.     He 


302  WHITE  LIES. 

would  kill  her  if  he  knew.  He  would  kill  her  that 
minute.  He  would  not  wait :  he  would  not  listen  to 
excuses :  he  is  a  man  of  iron.  Or  if  he  spared  her  he 
would  kill  Camilla:  and  that  would  destroy  her  by  the 
cruellest  of  all  deaths !  My  friend,  I  am  a  wicked, 
miserable  girl.     I  am  the  cause  of  all  this  misery ! " 

She  then  told  Aubertin  all  about  the  anonymous  letter, 
and  what  Raynal  had  said  to  her  in  consequence. 

"  He  never  would  have  married  her  had  he  known  she 
loved  another.  He  asked  me  was  it  so.  1  told  him  a 
falsehood.  At  least  I  equivocated,  and  to  equivocate 
with  one  so  loyal  and  simple  was  to  deceive  him.  I 
am  the  only  sinner :  that  sweet  angel  is  the  only  sufferer. 
Is  this  the  justice  of  Heaven  ?  Doctor,  my  remorse  is 
great.  No  one  knows  what  I  feel  when  I  look  at  my 
work.  Edouard  thinks  I  love  her  so  much  better  than  I 
do  him.  He  is  wrong :  it  is  not  love  only,  it  is  pity :  it 
is  remorse  for  the  sorrow  I  have  brought  on  her,  and  the 
wrong  I  have  done  poor  Raynal." 

The  high-spirited  girl  was  greatly  agitated :  and  Auber- 
tin, though  he  did  not  acquit  her  of  all  blame,  soothed 
her,  and  made  excuses  for  her. 

"  We  must  not  always  judge  by  results,"  said  he. 
"Things  turned  unfortunately.  You  did  for  the  best. 
I  forgive  you  for  one.  That  is,  I  will  forgive  you  if  you 
promise  not  to  act  again  without  my  advice." 

"  Oh,  never  !  never  !  " 

"And,  above  all,  no  imprudence  about  that  child.  In 
three  little  weeks  they  will  be  together  without  risk  of 
discovery.     Well,  you  don't  answer  me." 

Rose's  blood  turned  cold.  "Dear  friend,"  she  stam- 
mered, "  I  quite  agree  with  you." 

"Promise,  then." 

"Not  to  let  Josephine  go  to  Frejus  ? "  said  Rose 
hastily.     "Oh,  yes!  I  promise." 


WHITE    LIES.  303 

"You  are  a  good  girl,"  said  Aubertin.  "You  have  a 
will  of  your  own.  But  you  can  submit  to  age  and  expe- 
rience." The  doctor  then  kissed  her,  and  bade  her  fare- 
well. 

"  I  leave  for  Paris  at  six  in  the  morning,"  he  said, 
"I  will  not  try  your  patience  or  hers  unnecessarily. 
Perhaps  it  will  not  be  three  weeks  ere  she  sees  her 
child  under  her  friend's  roof." 

The  moment  Eose  was  alone,  she  sat  down  and  sighed 
bitterly.  "  There  is  no  end  to  it,"  she  sobbed  despair- 
ingly. "  It  is  like  a  spider's  web :  every  struggle  to  be 
free  but  multiplies  the  fine  yet  irresistible  thread  that 
seems  to  bind  me.  And  to-night  I  thought  to  be  so 
happy ;  instead  of  that,  he  has  left  me  scarce  the  heart 
to  do  what  I  have  to  do." 

She  went  back  to  the  room,  opened  a  window,  and  put 
out  a  white  handkerchief,  then  closed  the  window  down 
on  it. 

Then  she  went  to  Josephine's  bedroom-door :  it  opened 
on  the  tapestried  room. 

"Josephine,"  she  cried,  "don't  go  to  bed  just  yet." 

"  No,  love.  What  are  you  doing  ?  I  want  to  talk  to 
you.  Why  did  you  say  promise  ?  and  what  did  you 
mean  by  looking  at  me  so  ?  Shall  I  come  out  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Not  just  yet,"  said  Rose ;  she  then  glided  into  the 
corridor,  and  passed  her  mother's  room  and  the  doctor's, 
and  listened  to  see  if  all  was  quiet.  While  she  was 
gone  Josephine  opened  her  door;  but  not  seeing  Rose  in 
the  sitting-room,  retired  again. 

Rose  returned  softly,  and  sat  down  with  her  head  in 
her  hand,  in  a  calm  attitude  belied  by  her  glancing  eye, 
and  the  quick  tapping  of  her  other  hand  upon  the  table. 

Presently  she  raised  her  head  quickly ;  a  sound  had 
reached  her  ear,  —  a  sound  so  slight  that  none  but  a 


304  WHITE   LIES. 

high-strung   ear   could   liave   caught    it.      It   was    like 
a  mouse  giving  a  single  scratch  against  a  stone  wall. 
Rose  coughed  slightly. 

On  this  a  clearer  sound  was  heard,  as  of  a  person 
scratching  wood  with  the  finger-nail.  Rose  darted  to 
the  side  of  the  room,  pressed  against  the  wall,  and  at 
the  same  time  put  her  other  hand  against  the  rim  of 
one  of  the  panels  and  pushed  it  laterally ;  it  yielded, 
and  at  the  opening  stood  Jacintha  in  her  cloak  and 
bonnet. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jacintha,  "  under  my  cloak  —  look ! " 
"  Ah !  you  found  the  things  on  the  steps  ?  " 
"  Yes !  I  nearly  tumbled  over  them.     Have  you  locked 
that  door  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  will."  And  Rose  glided  to  the  door  and 
locked  it.  Then  she  put  the  screen  up  between  Joseph- 
ine's room  and  the  open  panel :  then  she  and  Jacintha 
were  wonderfully  busy  on  the  other  side  the  screen, 
but  presently  Rose  said,  "This  is  imprudent;  you  must 
go  down  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  wait  till  I  call 
you." 

Jacintha  pleaded  hard  against  this  arrangement,  and 
represented  that  there  was  no  earthly  chance  of  any  one 
coming  to  that  part  of  the  chateau. 

"  No  matter ;  I  will  be  guarded  on  every  side." 
"  Mustn't  I  stop  and  just  see  her  happy  for  once  ?  " 
"No,  my  poor  Jacintha,  you  must  hear  it  from  my 
lips." 

Jacintha  retired  to  keep  watch  as  she  was  bid.  Rose 
went  to  Josephine's  room,  and  threw  her  arms  round 
her  neck  and  kissed  her  vehemently.  Josephine  returned 
her  embrace,  then  held  her  out  at  arm's  length  and  looked 
at  her. 

"  Your  eyes  are  red,  yet  your  little  face  is  full  of  joy. 
There,  you  smile." 


WHITE    LIES.  305 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  I  am  so  happy." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.     Are  you  coming  to  bed  ?  " 

"Not  yet.  I  invite  you  to  take  a  little  walk  with  me 
first.  Come ! "  and  she  led  the  way  slowly,  looking 
back  with  infinite  archness  and  tenderness. 

"  You  almost  frighten  me,"  s?id  Josephine ;  "  it  is  not 
like  you  to  be  all  joy  when  I  am  sad.  Three  whole 
weeks  more  ! " 

"  That  is  it.  Why  are  you  sad  ?  because  the  doctor 
would  not  let  you  go  to  Frejus.  And  why  am  I  not  sad  ? 
because  I  had  already  thought  of  a  way  to  let  you  see 
Edouard  without  going  so  far." 

"Rose!  O  Rose!  0  Rose!" 

"  This  way  —  come  !  "  and  she  smiled  and  beckoned 
with  her  finger,  while  Josephine  followed  like  one  under 
a  spell,  her  bosom  heaving,  her  eye  glancing  on  every 
side,  hoping  some  strange  joy,  yet  scarce  daring  to  hope. 

Rose  drew  back  the  screen,  and  there  was  a  sweet 
little  berceau  that  had  once  been  Josephine's  own,  and  in 
it,  sunk  deep  in  snow-white  lawn,  was  a  sleeping  child, 
that  lay  there  looking  as  a  rose  might  look  could  it  fall 
upon  new-fallen  snow. 

At  sight  of  it  Josephine  uttered  a  little  cry,  not  loud 
but  deep  —  ay,  a  cry  to  bring  tears  into  the  eye  of  the 
hearer,  and  she  stood  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  her 
hands  clasped,  and  her  eye  fascinated  and  fixed  on  the 
cradle. 

"My  child  under  this  roof !  What  have  you  done  ?  " 
but  her  eye,  fascinated  and  fixed,  never  left  the  cradle. 

"I  saw  you  languishing,  dying,  for  want  of  him." 

"Oh,  if  anybody  should  come?"  But  her  eye  never 
stirred  an  inch  from  the  cradle. 

"  No,  no,  no !  the  door  is  locked.  Jacintha  watches 
below  ;  there  is  no  dan —     Ah,  oh,  poor  sister  !  " 

For,  as  Rose  was  speaking,  the  young  mother  sprang 
20 


306  WHITE   LIES. 

silently  upon  her  child.  You  would  have  thought  she 
was  going  to  kill  him;  her  head  reared  itself  again  and 
again  like  a  crested  snake's,  and  again  and  again  and 
again  and  again  plunged  down  upon  the  child,  and  she 
kissed  his  little  body  from  head  to  foot  with  soft  vio- 
lence, and  murmured,  through  her  streaming  tears,  "My 
child !  my  darling  !  my  angel !  oh,  my  poor  boy  !  my 
child  !  ray  child  !  " 

I  will  ask  my  female  readers  of  every  degree  to  tell 
their  brothers  and  husbands  all  the  young  noble  did  ; 
how  she  sat  on  the  floor,  and  had  her  child  on  her  bosom  ; 
how  she  smiled  over  it  through  her  tears;  how  she  purred 
over  it ;  how  she,  the  stately  one,  lisped  and  prattled 
over  it;  and  how  life  came  pouring  into  her  heart 
from  it. 

Before  she  had  had  it  in  her  arms  five  minutes,  her 
pale  cheek  was  as  red  as  a  rose,  and  her  eyes  brighter 
than  diamonds. 

"  Bless  you.  Rose !  bless  you !  bless  you !  in  one 
moment  you  have  made  me  forget  all  I  ever  suffered  in 
my  life." 

"  There  is  a  cold  draught,"  cried  she  presently,  with 
maternal  anxiety;  "close  the  panel,  Rose." 

"  No,  dear ;  or  I  could  not  call  to  Jacintha,  or  she  to 
me;  but  I  will  shift  the  screen  round  between  him  and 
the  draught.     There,  now,  come  to  his  aunt  —  a  darling !  " 

Then  Rose  sat  on  the  floor  too,  and  Josephine  put  her 
boy  on  aunt's  lap,  and  took  a  distant  view  of  him.  But 
she  could  not  bear  so  vast  a  separation  long.  She  must 
have  him  to  her  bosom  again. 

Presently  my  lord,  finding  himself  hugged,  opened  his 
eyes,  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  his  mouth. 

"  Oh,  that  will  never  do,"  cried  Rose,  and  they  put 
him  back  in  the  cradle  with  all  expedition,  and  began  to 
rock  it.     Young  master  was   not   to    be    altogether  ap- 


WHITE   LIES.  307 

peased  even  by  that.  So  Rose  began  singing  an  old- 
fashioned  Breton  chant  or  lullaby. 

Josephine  sang  with  her,  and,  singing,  watched  with  a 
smile  her  boy  drop  off  by  degrees  to  sleep  under  the 
gentle  motion  and  the  lulling  song.  They  sang  and 
rocked  till  the  lids  came  creeping  down,  and  hid  the 
great  blue  eyes  ;  but  still  they  sang  and  rocked,  lulling 
the  boy,  and  gladdening  their  own  hearts  ;  for  the  quaint 
old  Breton  ditty  was  tunable  as  the  lark  that  carols  over 
the  green  wheat  in  April ;  and  the  words  so  simple  and 
motherly,  that  a  nation  had  taken  them  to  heart.  Such 
songs  bind  ages  together  and  make  the  lofty  and  the 
low  akin  by  the  great  ties  of  music  and  the  heart.  Many 
a  Breton  peasant's  bosom  in  the  olden  time  had  gushed 
over  her  sleeping  boy  as  the  young  dame's  of  Beaurepaire 
gushed  now  —  in  this  quaint,  tuneful  lullaby. 

Now,  as  they  kneeled  over  the  cradle,  one  on  each  side, 
and  rocked  it,  and  sang  that  ancient  chant,  Josephine, 
who  was  opposite  the  screen,  happening  to  raise  her 
eyes,  saw  a  strange  thing. 

There  was  the  face  of  a  man  set  close  against  the  side 
of  the  screen,  and  peeping  and  peering  out  of  the  gloom. 
The  light  of  her  candle  fell  full  on  this  face;  it  glared  at 
her,  set  pale,  wonder-struck,  and  vivid  in  the  surround- 
ing gloom. 

Horror  !     It  was  her  husband's  face. 

At  first  she  was  quite  stupefied,  and  looked  at  it  with 
soul  and  senses  benumbed.  Then  she  trembled,  and  put 
her  hand  to  her  eyes ;  for  she  thought  it  a  phantom  or  a 
delusion  of  the  mind.  No  :  there  it  glared  still.  Then 
she  trembled  violently,  and  held  out  her  left  hand,  the 
fingers  working  convulsively,  to  Rose,  who  was  still 
singing. 

But,  at  the  same  moment,  the  mouth  of  this  face  sud- 
denly opened  in  a  long-drawn  breath.     At  this,  Josephine 


308  WHITE    LIES. 

uttered  a  violent  shriek,  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  with  her 
right  hand  quivering  and  pointing  at  tliat  pale  face  set 
in  the  dark. 

Kose  started  up,  and,  wheeling  her  head  round,  saw 
Raynal's  gloomy  face  looking  over  her  shoulder.  She 
fell  screaming  upon  her  knees,  and,  almost  out  of  her 
senses,  began  to  pray  wildly  and  piteously  for  mercy. 

Josephine  uttered  one  more  cry,  but  this  was  the  faint 
cry  of  nature,  sinking  under  the  shock  of  terror.  She 
swooned  dead  away,  and  fell  senseless  on  the  floor  ere 
Raynal  could  debarrass  himself  of  the  screen,  and  get  to 
her. 

This,  then,  was  the  scene  that  met  Edouard's  eyes. 

His  affianced  bride  on  her  knees,  white  as  a  ghost, 
trembling,  and  screaming,  rather  than  crying,  for  mercy. 
And  Raynal  standing  over  his  wife,  showing  by  the 
working  of  his  iron  features  that  he  doubted  whether  she 
was  worthy  he  should  raise  her. 

One  would  have  thought  nothing  could  add  to  the 
terror  of  this  scene.  Yet  it  was  added  to.  The  baroness 
rang  her  bell  violently  in  the  room  below.  She  had 
heard  Josephine's  scream  and  fall. 

At  the  ringing  of  this  shrill  bell  Rose  shuddered  like 
a  maniac,  and  grovelled  on  her  knees  to  Raynal,  and 
seized  his  very  knees  and  implored  him  to  show  some 
pity. 

"  O  sir  !  kill  us  !  we  are  culpable  "  — 

Dring  !  dring !  dring !  dring !  dring !  pealed  the  baron- 
ess's bell  again. 

"But  do  not  tell  our  mother.  Oh,  if  you  are  a  man  ! 
do  not !  do  not !  Show  us  some  pity.  We  are  but 
women.     Mercy  !  mercy !  mercy !  " 

"  Speak  out  then,"  groaned  Raynal.  "  What  does  this 
mean  ?  Why  has  my  wife  swooned  at  sight  of  me  ?  — 
whose  is  this  child  ?  " 


WHITE   LIES.  309 

"Whose?"  stammered  Kose.  Till  he  said  that,  she 
never  thought  there  could  be  a  doubt  whose  child. 

Di'iug  !  dring  !  dring  !  dring  !  dring  ! 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  "  cried  the  poor  girl,  and  her  scared 
eyes  glanced  every  way  like  some  wild  creature  looking 
for  a  hole,  however  small,  to  escape  by. 

Edouard,  seeing  her  hesitation,  came  down  on  her 
other  side.  *'  Whose  is  the  child,  Kose  ? "  said  he 
sternly. 

"  You,  too  ?  Why  were  we  born  ?  mercy  !  oh !  pray 
let  me  go  to  my  sister." 

Dring !  dring  !  dring  !  dring  !  dring  !  went  the  terrible 
bell. 

The  men  were  excited  to  fury  by  Rose's  hesitation ; 
they  each  seized  an  arm,  and  tore  her  screaming  with 
fear  at  their  violence,  from  her  knees  up  to  her  feet 
between  them  with  a  single  gesture. 

"  Whose  is  the  child  ?  " 

"  You  hurt  me ! "  said  she  bitterly  to  Edouard,  and 
she  left  crying  and  was  terribly  calm  and  sullen  all  in  a 
moment. 

"  Whose  is  the  child  ?  "  roared  Edouard  and  Raynal, 
in  one  raging  breath.     "  Whose  is  the  child  ?  " 

"  It  is  mine." 


310  WHITE  LIES. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

These  were  not  words ;  they  were  electric  shocks. 

The  two  arms  that  gripped  Rose's  arms  were  paralyzed, 
and  dropped  off  them ;  and  there  was  silence. 

Then  first  the  thought  of  all  she  had  done  with  those 
three  words  began  to  rise  and  grow  and  surge  over  her. 
She  stood,  her  eyes  turned  downwards,  yet  inwards,  and 
dilating  with  horror. 

Silence. 

Now  a  mist  began  to  spread  over  her  eyes,  and  in  it 
she  saw  indistinctly  the  figure  of  Raynal  darting  to  her 
sister's  side,  and  raising  her  head. 

She  dared  not  look  round  on  the  other  side.  She 
heard  feet  stagger  on  the  floor.  She  heard  a  groan,  too  ; 
but  not  a  word. 

Horrible  silence. 

With  nerves  strung  to  frenzy,  and  quivering  ears,  that 
magnified  every  sound,  she  waited  for  a  reproach,  a  curse ; 
either  would  have  been  some  little  relief.  But  no !  a 
silence  far  more  terrible. 

Then  a  step  wavered  across  the  room.  Her  soul  was 
in  her  ear.  She  could  hear  and  feel  the  step  totter,  and 
it  shook  her  as  it  went.  All  sounds  were  trebled  to  her. 
Then  it  struck  on  the  stone  step  of  the  staircase,  not  like 
a  step,  but  a  knell ;  another  step,  another  and  another  ; 
down  to  the  very  bottom.  Each  slow  step  made  her 
head  ring  and  her  heart  freeze. 

At  last  she  heard  no  more.  Then  a  scream  of  anguish 
and  recall  rose  to  her  lips.  She  fought  it  down,  for 
Josephine  and  Raynal.     Edouard  was  gone.     She  had 


WHITE   LIES.  311 

but  her  sister  now,  the  sister  she  loved  better  than  her- 
self;  the  sister  to  save  whose  life  and  honor  she  had  this 
moment  sacriticed  her  own,  and  all  a  woman  lives  for. 

She  turned,  with  a  wild  cry  of  love  and  pity,  to  that 
sister's  side  to  help  her;  and  when  she  kneeled  down 
beside  her,  an  iron  arm  was  promptly  thrust  out  between 
the  beloved  one  and  her. 

"This  is  my  care,  madame,"  said  Raynal,  coldly. 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  manner.  The  stained  one 
was  not  to  touch  his  wife. 

She  looked  at  him  in  piteous  amazement  at  his  ingrati- 
tude. "It  is  well,"  said  she.  "It  is  just.  I  deserve 
this  from  you." 

She  said  no  more,  but  drooped  gently  down  beside  the 
cradle,  and  hid  her  forehead  in  the  clothes  beside  the 
child  that  had  brought  all  this  woe,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

Then  honest  Raynal  began  to  be  sorry  for  her,  in  spite 
of  himself.  But  there  was  no  time  for  this.  Josephine 
stirred ;  and,  at  the  same  moment,  a  violent  knocking 
came  at  the  door  of  the  apartment,  and  the  new  servant's 
voice,  crying,  "Ladies,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what  is  the 
matter  ?  The  baroness  heard  a  fall  —  she  is  getting  up 
—  she  will  be  here.    What  shall  I  tell  her  is  the  matter?" 

Raynal  was  going  to  answer,  but  Rose,  who  had  started 
up  at  the  knocking,  put  her  hand  in  a  moment  right 
before  his  mouth,  and  ran  to  the  door.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing the  matter  ;  tell  mamma  I  am  coming  down  to  her 
directly."  She  flew  back  to  Raynal  in  an  excitement 
little  short  of  frenzy.  "  Help  me  carry  her  into  her  own 
room,"  cried  she  imperiously.  Raynal  obeyed  by  instinct; 
for  the  fiery  girl  spoke  like  a  general,  giving  the  Avord  of 
command,  with  the  enemy  in  front.  He  carried  the  true 
culprit  in  his  arms,  and  laid  her  gently  on  her  bed. 

"Now  put  it  out  of  sight  —  take  this,  quick,  man  J 
quick  ! "  cried  Rose. 


312  WHITE   LIES. 

Kaynal  went  to  the  cradle.  "  Ah  !  my  poor  girl,"  said 
he,  as  he  lifted  it  in  his  arms,  "this  is  a  sorry  business; 
to  have  to  hide  your  own  child  from  your  own  mother ! " 

"Colonel  Raynal,"  said  Rose,  "do  not  insult  a  poor, 
despairing  girl.     C^est  IdcheP 

"I  am  silent,  young  woman,"  said  Raynal,  sternly. 
"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"Take  it  down  the  steps,  and  give  it  to  Jacintha. 
Stay,  here  is  a  candle ;  I  go  to  tell  mamma  you  are 
come ;  and.  Colonel  Raynal,  I  never  injured  you :  if  you 
tell  my  mother  you  will  stab  her  to  the  heart,  and  me, 
and  may  the  curse  of  cowards  light  on  you !  —  may  "  — 

"Enough!"  said  Raynal,  sternly.  "Do  you  take  me 
for  a  babbling  girl  ?  I  love  your  mother  better  than  you 
do,  or  this  brat  of  yours  would  not  be  here,  /shall  not 
bring  her  gray  hairs  down  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.  I 
shall  speak  of  this  villany  to  but  one  person ;  and  to 
him  I  shall  talk  with  this,  and  not  with  the  idle  tongue." 
And  he  tapped  his  sword-hilt  with  a  sombre  look  of 
terrible  significance. 

He  carried  out  the  cradle.  The  child  slept  sweetly 
through  it  all. 

Rose  darted  into  Josephine's  room,  took  the  key  from 
the  inside  to  the  outside,  locked  the  door,  put  the  key  in 
her  pocket,  and  ran  down  to  her  mother's  room ;  her 
knees  trembled  under  her  as  she  went. 

Meantime,  Jacintha,  sleeping  tranquilly,  suddenly  felt 
her  throat  griped,  and  heard  a  loud  voice  ring  in  her  ear; 
then  she  was  lifted,  and  wrenched,  and  dropped.  She 
found  herself  lying  clear  of  the  steps  in  the  moonlight ; 
her  head  was  where  her  feet  had  been,  and  her  candle 
out. 

She  uttered  shriek  upon  shriek,  and  was  too  fright- 
ened to  get  up.  She  thought  it  was  supernatural ;  some 
old  De  Beaurepaire  had  served  her  thus  for  sleeping  on 


WHITE   LIES.  313 

her  post.  A  struggle  took  place  between  her  fidelity 
and  her  superstitious  fears.  Fidelity  conquered.  Quak- 
ing in  every  limb,  she  groped  up  the  staircase  for  her 
candle. 

It  was  gone. 

Then  a  still  more  sickening  fear  came  over  her. 

What  if  this  Avas  no  spirit's  work,  but  a  human  arm  — 
a  strong  one  —  some  man's  arm  ? 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  dart  up  the  stairs,  and  make 
sure  that  no  calamity  had  befallen  through  her  mistimed 
drowsiness.  But,  when  she  came  to  try,  her  dread  of 
the  supernatural  revived.  She  could  not  venture  without 
a  light  up  those  stairs,  thronged  perhaps  with  angry 
spirits.  She  ran  to  the  kitchen.  She  found  the  tinder- 
box,  and  with  trembling  hands  struck  a  light.  She  came 
back  shading  it  with  her  shaky  hands ;  and,  committing 
her  soul  to  the  care  of  Heaven,  she  crept  quaking  up 
the  stairs.  Then  she  heard  voices  above,  and  that 
restored  her  more ;  she  mounted  more  steadily.  Pres- 
ently she  stopped,  for  a  heavy  step  was  coming  down. 
It  did  not  sound  like  a  woman's  step.  It  came  further 
down  ;  she  turned  to  fly. 

"  Jacintha  I "  said  a  deep  voice,  that  in  this  stone 
cylinder  rang  like  thunder  from  a  tomb. 

"Oh  I  saints  and  angels  save  me!"  yelled  Jacintha; 
and  fell  on  her  knees,  and  hid  her  head  for  securit}'^ ; 
and  down  went  her  candlestick  clattering  on  the  stone. 

'*  Don't  be  a  fool !  "  said  the  iron  voice.  "  Get  up  and 
take  this." 

She  raised  her  head  by  slow  degrees,  shuddering. 

A  man  was  holding  out  a  cradle  to  her ;  the  candle  he 
carried  lighted  up  his  face ;  it  was  Colonel  Raynal. 

She  stared  at  him  stupidly,  but  never  moved  from  her 
knees,  and  the  candle  began  to  shake  violently  in  her 
hand,  as  she  herself  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 


314  WHITE   LIES. 

Then  Raynal  concluded  she  was  in  the  plot;  but, 
scorning  to  reproach  a  servant,  he  merely  said,  "  Well, 
what  do  you  kneel  there  for,  gaping  at  me  like  that  ? 
Take  this,  T  tell  you,  and  carry  it  out  of  the  house." 

He  shoved  the  cradle  roughly  down  into  her  hands, 
then  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word. 

Jacintha  collapsed  on  the  stairs,  and  the  cradle  beside 
her,  for  all  the  power  was  driven  out  of  her  body ;  she 
could  hardly  support  her  own  weight,  much  less  the 
cradle. 

She  rocked  herself,  and  moaned  out,  "  Oh,  what's  this  ? 
oh,  what's  this  ?  " 

A  cold  perspiration  came  over  her  whole  frame. 

"  What  could  this  mean  ?  What  on  earth  had  hap- 
pened ?  " 

She  took  up  the  candle,  for  it  was  lying  burning  and 
guttering  on  the  stairs ;  scraped  up  the  grease  with  the 
snuffers,  and  by  force  of  habit  tried  to  polish  it  clean 
with  a  bit  of  paper  that  shook  between  her  fingers  ;  she 
did  not  know  what  she  was  doing.  When  she  recovered 
her  wits,  she  took  the  child  out  of  the  cradle,  and 
wrapped  it  carefully  in  her  shawl;  then  went  slowly 
down  the  stairs ;  and  holding  him  close  to  her  bosom, 
with  a  furtive  eye,  and  brain  confused,  and  a  heart  like 
lead,  stole  away  to  the  tenantless  cottage,  where  Madame 
Jouvenel  awaited  her. 

Meantime,  Rose,  with  quaking  heart,  had  encountered 
the  baroness.  She  found  her  pale  and  agitated,  and  her 
first  question  was,  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  what  have  you 
been  all  doing  over  my  head  ?  "     * 

"Darling  mother,"  replied  Rose,  evasively,  "some- 
thing has  happened  that  will  rejoice  your  heart.  Some- 
body has  come  home." 

"  My  son  ?  eh,  no !  impossible !  We  cannot  be  so 
happy." 


WHITE   LIES.  315 

"He  will  be  with  you  directly." 

The  old  lady  now  trembled  with  joyful  agitation. 

"In  five  minutes  I  Avill  bring  him  to  you.  Shall  you 
be  dressed  ?     I  will  ring  for  the  girl  to  help  you." 

"But,  Rose,  the  scream,  and  that  terrible  fall.  Ah  I 
where  is  Josephine  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess,  mamma  ?  Oh,  the  fall  was  only  the 
screen  ;  they  stumbled  over  it  in  the  dark," 

"They!  who?" 

"  Colonel  Raynal,  and  —  and  Edouard.  I  will  tell  you, 
mamma,  but  don't  be  angry,,  or  even  mention  it ;  they 
wanted  to  surprise  us.  They  saw  a  light  burning,  and 
they  crept  on  tiptoe  up  to  the  tapestried  room,  where 
Josephine  and  1  were,  and  they  did  give  us  a  great 
fright." 

"  What  madness  ! "  cried  the  baroness,  angrily ;  "  and 
in  Josephine's  weak  state  !  Such  a  surprise  might  have 
driven  her  into  a  fit." 

"  Yes,  it  was  foolish,  but  let  it  pass,  mamma.  Don't 
speak  of  it,  for  he  is  so  sorry  about  it." 

Then  Rose  slipped  out,  ordered  a  fire  in  the  salon,  and 
not  in  the  tapestried  room,  and  the  next  minute  was  at 
her  sister's  door.  There  she  found  Ra3'nal  knocking, 
and  asking  Josephine  how  she  was. 

"  Pray  leave  her  to  me  a  moment,"  said  she.  "  I  will 
bring  her  down  to  you.  Mamma  is  waiting  for  you  in 
the  salon.'" 

Raynal  went  down.  Rose  unlocked  the  bedroom-door, 
went  in,  and,  to  her  horror,  found  Josephine  lying  on 
the  floor.  She  dashed  water  in  her  face,  and  applied 
every  remedy ;  and  at  last  she  came  back  to  life,  and  its 
terrors. 

"Save  me.  Rose!  save  me  —  he  is  coming  to  kill  me 
—  I  heard  him  at  the  door,"  and  she  clung  trembling 
piteously  to  Rose. 


316  WHITE   LIES. 

Then  Rose,  seeing  her  terror,  was  almost  glad  at  the 
suicidal  falsehood  she  had  told.  She  comforted  and 
encouraged  Josephine  and  —  deceived  her.  (This  was 
the  climax.) 

"  All  is  well,  my  poor  coward,"  she  cried ;  "  your  fears 
are  all  imaginary ;  another  has  owned  the  child,  and  the 
story  is  believed." 

"  Another !  impossible  !     He  would  not  believe  it." 

"  He  does  believe  it  —  he  shall  believe  it." 

Rose  then,  feeling  by  no  means  sure  that  Josephine, 
terrified  as  she  was,  would  consent  to  let  her  sister  come 
to  shame  to  screen  her,  told  her  boldly  that  Jacintha  had 
owned  herself  the  mother  of  the  child,  and  that  Raynal's 
only  feeling  towards  her  was  pity,  and  regret  at  having 
so  foolishly  frightened  her,  weakened  as  she  was  by  ill- 
ness. "  I  told  him  you  had  been  ill,  dear.  But  how 
came  you  on  the  ground  ?  " 

"  I  had  come  to  myself ;  I  was  on  my  knees  praying. 
He  tapped.  I  heard  his  voice.  I  remember  no  more. 
I  must  have  fainted  again  directly." 

Rose  had  hard  work  to  make  her  believe  that  her 
guilt,  as  she  called  it,  was  not  known ;  and  even  then 
she  could  not  prevail  on  her  to  come  down-stairs,  until 
she  said,  "  If  you  don't,  he  will  come  to  you."  On  that 
Josephine  consented  eagerly,  and  with  trembling  fingers 
began  to  adjust  her  hair  and  her  dress  for  the  interview. 

All  this  terrible  night  Rose  fought  for  her  sister.  She 
took  her  down-stairs  to  the  salon  ;  she  put  her  on  the 
sofa ;  she  sat  by  her  and  pressed  her  hand  constantly  to 
give  her  courage.  She  told  the  story  of  the  surprise  her 
own  way,  before  the  whole  party,  including  the  doctor, 
to  prevent  Raynal  from  being  called  on  to  tell  it  his  way. 
She  laughed  at  Josephine's  absurdity,  but  excused  it  on 
account  of  her  feeble  health.  In  short,  she  threw  more 
and  more  dust  in  all  their  eyes. 


WHITE   LIES.  317 

But  by  the  time  when  the  rising  sun  came  faintly  in 
and  lighted  the  haggard  party,  where  the  deceived  were 
happy,  the  deceivers  wretched,  the  supernatural  strength 
this  young  girl  had  shown  was  almost  exhausted.  She 
felt  an  hysterical  impulse  to  scream  and  weep:  each 
minute  it  became  more  and  more  ungovernable.  Then 
came  an  unexpected  turn.  Raynal  after  a  long  and  tir- 
ing talk  with  his  mother,  as  he  called  her,  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  in  a  characteristic  way  coolly  announced  his 
immediate  departure,  this  being  the  first  hint  he  had 
given  them  that  he  was  not  come  back  for  good. 

The  baroness  was  thunderstruck. 

Rose  and  Josephine  pressed  one  another's  hands,  and 
had  much  ado  not  to  utter  a  loud  cry  of  joy. 

Raynal  explained  that  he  was  the  bearer  of  despatches. 
"  I  must  be  off  :  not  an  hour  to  lose.  Don't  fret,  mother, 
I  shall  soon  be  back  again,  if  I  am  not  knocked  on  the 
head." 

Raynal  took  leave  of  them  all.  When  it  came  to  Rose's 
turn,  he  drew  her  aside  and  whispered  into  her  ear,  "Who 
is  the  man  ?  " 

She  started,  and  seemed  dum  founded. 

"  Tell  me,  or  I  ask  my  wife." 

"  She  has  promised  me  not  to  betray  me  :  I  made  her 
swear.  Spare  me  now,  brother  ;  I  will  tell  you  all  when 
you  come  back." 

"  That  is  a  bargain  :  now  hear  me  swear :  he  shall 
marry  you,  or  he  shall  die  by  my  hand." 

He  confirmed  this  by  a  tremendous  oath. 

Rose  shuddered,  but  said  nothing,  onl}^  she  thought 
to  herself,  "  I  am  forewarned.  Never  shall  you  know  who 
is  the  father  of  that  child." 

He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  the  baroness  insisted  on 
knowing  what  this  private  communication  between  him 
and  Rose  was  about. 


318  WHITE   LIES. 

"Oh,"  said  Rose,  "he  was  only  telling  me  to  keep  up 
your  courage  and  Josephine's  till  he  comes  back." 

This  was  the  last  lie  the  poor  entangled  wretch  had  to 
tell  that  morning.  The  next  minute  the  sisters,  exhausted 
by  their  terrible  struggle,  went  feebly,  with  downcast  eyes, 
along  the  corridor  and  up  the  staircase  to  Josephine's 
room. 

They  went  hand  in  hand.  They  sank  down,  dressed 
as  they  were,  on  Josephine's  bed,  and  clung  to  one 
another  and  trembled  together,  till  their  exhausted 
natures  sank  into  uneasy  slumbers,  from  which  each 
in  turn  would  wake  ever  and  anon  with  a  convulsive 
start,  and  clasp  her  sister  tighter  to  her  breast. 

Theirs  was  a  marvellous  love.  Even  a  course  of  deceit 
had  not  yet  prevailed  to  separate  or  chill  their  sister 
bosoms.  But  still  in  this  deep  and  wonderful  love  there 
were  degrees  :  one  went  a  shade  deeper  than  the  other 
now  —  ay,  since  last  night.  Which  ?  why,  she  who  had 
sacrificed  herself  for  the  other,  and  dared  not  tell  her, 
lest  the  sacrifice  should  be  refused. 

It  was  the  gray  of  the  morning,  and  foggy,  when 
Raynal,  after  taking  leave,  went  to  the  stable  for  his 
horse.  At  the  stable-door  he  came  upon  a  man  sitting 
doubled  up  on  the  very  stones  of  the  yard,  with  his  head 
on  his  knees.  The  figure  lifted  his  head,  and  showed 
him  the  face  of  Edouard  Riviere,  white  and  ghastly  :  his 
hair  lank  with  the  mist,  his  teeth  chattering  with  cold 
and  misery.  The  poor  wretch  had  walked  frantically  all 
night  round  and  round  the  chateau,  waiting  till  Raynal 
should  come  out.     He  told  him  so. 

"  But  why  didn't  you  ?  —  Ah  !  I  see.  No  !  you  could 
not  go  into  the  house  after  that.  My  poor  fellow,  there 
is  but  one  thing  for  you  to  do.  Turn  your  back  on  herf 
and  forget  she  ever  lived  ;  she  is  dead  to  you." 


WHITE    LIES.  319 

"There  is  something  to  be  done  besides  that,"  said 
Edouard,  gloomily. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Vengeance." 

'•'That  is  my  affair,  young  man.  "When  T  come  back 
from  the  Rhine,  she  will  tell  me  who  her  seducer  is. 
She  has  promised." 

''  And  don't  yon  see  through  that  ? "  said  Edouard, 
gnashing  his  teeth;  "that  is  only  to  gain  time:  she 
will  never  tell  you.  She  is  young  in  years,  but  old  in 
treachery." 

He  groaned  and  was  silent  a  moment,  then  laying  his 
hand  on  Raynal's  arm  said  grimly,  "Thank  Heaven,  we 
don't  depend  on  her  for  information  !    I  know  the  villain." 

Raynal's  eyes  flashed :  "  Ah  !  then  tell  me  this  mo- 
ment." 

"It  is  that  scoundrel  Dujardin." 

"  Dujardin  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  while  you  were  fighting  for  France,  your 
house  was  turned  into  a  hospital  for  wounded  soldiers." 

"And  pray,  sir,  to  what  more  honorable  use  could  they 
put  it  ?  " 

"Well,  this  Dujardin  was  housed  by  you,  was  nursed 
by  your  wife  and  all  the  family ;  and  in  return  has 
seduced  your  sister,  my  affianced." 

"I  can  hardly  believe  that.  Camille  Dujardin  was 
always  a  man  of  honor,  and  a  good  soldier." 

"  Colonel,  there  has  been  no  man  near  the  place  but 
this  Dujardin.  I  tell  you  it  is  he.  Don't  make  me  tear 
my  bleeding  heart  out :  must  I  tell  you  how  often  I 
caught  them  together,  how  I  suspected,  and  how  she 
gulled  me  ?  blind  fool  that  I  was,  to  believe  a  woman's 
words  before  my  own  eyes.  I  swear  to  you  he  is  the 
villain  ;  the  only  question  is,  which  of  us  two  is  to  kill 
him." 


320  WHITE   LIES. 

"Where  is  the  man  ?  " 

"In  the  army  of  the  Rhine." 

"Ah  !  all  the  better." 

"  Covered  with  glory  and  honor.  Curse  him  !  oh,  curse 
him  !  curse  him  !  " 

"I  am  in  luck.     I  am  going  to  the  Rhine." 

"I  know  it.  That  is  why  I  waited  here  all  through 
this  night  of  misery.  Yes,  you  are  in  luck.  But  you 
will  send  me  a  line  when  you  have  killed  him  ;  will  you 
not  ?  Then  I  shall  know  joy  again.  Should  he  escape 
you,  he  shall  not  escape  me." 

"Young  man,"  said  Raynal,  with  dignity,  "this  rage 
is  unmanly.  Besides,  we  have  not  heard  his  side  of  the 
story.  He  is  a  good  soldier ;  perhaps  he  is  not  all  to 
blame  :  or  perhaps  passion  has  betrayed  him  into  a  sin 
that  his  conscience  and  honor  disapprove  :  if  so,  he  must 
not  die.  You  think  only  of  your  wrong  :  it  is  natural : 
but  I  am  the  girl's  brother ;  guardian  of  her  honor  and 
my  own.  His  life  is  precious  as  gold.  I  shall  make  him 
marry  her." 

"  What !  reward  him  for  his  villany  ?  "  cried  Edouard, 
frantically. 

"A  mighty  reward,"  replied  Raynal,  with  a  sneer. 

"You  leave  one  thing  out  of  the  calculation,  monsieur," 
said  Edouard,  trembling  with  anger,  "that  I  will  kill 
your  brother-in-law  at  the  altar,  before  her  eyes." 

"  Yoti  leave  one  thing  out  of  the  calculation :  that  you 
will  first  have  to  cross  swords,  at  the  altar,  with  me." 

"So  be  it.  I  will  not  draw  on  my  old  commandant. 
I  could  not ;  but  be  sure  I  will  catch  him  and  her  alone 
some  day,  and  the  bride  shall  be  a  widow  in  her  honey- 
moon." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Raynal,  coolly.  "That  is  all 
fair,  as  you  have  been  wronged.  I  shall  make  her  an 
honest  wife,  and  then  you  may  make   her  an  honest 


WHITE   LIES.  321 

widow.  (This  is  what  they  call  love,  and  sneer  at  me 
for  keeping  clear  of  it.)     But  neither  he  nor  you  shall 

keep  my  sister  what  she  is  now,  a ,"  and  he  used  a 

word  out  of  camp. 

Edouard  winced  and  groaned.  "  Oh  !  don't  call  her  by 
such  a  name.  There  is  some  mystery.  She  loved  me 
once.     There  must  have  been  some  strange  seduction." 

"Now  you  deceive  yourself,"  said  Raynal.  "I  never 
saw  a  girl  that  could  take  her  own  part  better  than  she 
can ;  she  is  not  like  her  sister  at  all  in  character.  Not 
that  I  excuse  him ;  it  Avas  a  dishonorable  act,  an  ungrate- 
ful act  to  my  wife  and  my  mother." 

"And  to  you." 

"Now  listen  to  me :  in  four  days  I  shall  stand  before 
him.  I  shall  not  go  into  a  pet  like  you ;  I  am  in  earnest. 
I  shall  just  say  to  him,  ^Dujardin,  I  know  all ! '  Then  if 
he  is  guilty  his  face  will  show  it  directly.  Then  I  shall 
say,  '  Comrade,  you  must  marry  her  whom  you  have  dis- 
honored.' " 

"He  will  not.     He  is  a  libertine,  a  rascal." 

"  You  are  speaking  of  a  man  you  don't  know.  He  will 
marry  her  and  repair  the  wrong  he  has  done." 

"  Suppose  he  refuses  ?  " 

"  Why  should  he  refuse  ?  The  girl  is  not  ugly  nor  old, 
and  if  she  has  done  a  folly,  he  was  her  partner  in  it." 

"  But  suppose  he  refuses  ?  " 

Raynal  ground  his  teeth.  "  Refuse  ?  If  he  does,  I'll 
run  ray  sword  through  his  carcass  then  and  there,  and 
the  hussy  shall  go  into  a  convent." 


322  WHITE   LIK.S. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  French  army  lay  before  a  fortified  place  near  the 
Rhine,  which  we  will  call  Philipsburg. 

This  army  knew  Bonaparte  by  report  only ;  it  was 
commanded  by  generals  of  the  old  school. 

Philipsburg  was  defended  on  three  sides  by  the  nature 
of  the  ground;  but  on  the  side  that  faced  the  French 
line  of  march  there  was  only  a  zigzag  wall,  pierced,  and 
a  low  tower  or  two  at  each  of  the  salient  angles. 

There  were  evidences  of  a  tardy  attempt  to  improve 
the  defences.  In  particular  there  was  a  large  round 
bastion,  about  three  times  the  height  of  the  wall ;  but 
the  masonry  was  new,  and  the  very  embrasures  were  not 
yet  cut. 

Young  blood  was  for  assaulting  these  equivocal  forti- 
fications at  the  end  of  the  day's  march  that  brought  the 
French  advanced  guard  in  sight  of  the  place ;  but  the  old 
generals  would  not  hear  of  it ;  the  soldiers'  lives  must 
not  be  flung  away  assaulting  a  place  that  could  be  reduced 
in  twenty-one  days  with  mathematical  certainty.  For  at 
this  epoch  a  siege  was  looked  on  as  a  process  with  a  cer- 
tain result,  the  only  problem  was  in  how  many  days 
would  the  place  be  taken ;  and  even  this  they  used  to 
settle  to  a  day  or  two  on  paper  by  arithmetic ;  so  many 
feet  of  wall,  and  so  many  guns  on  the  one  side ;  so  many 
guns,  so  many  men,  and  such  and  such  a  soil  to  cut  the 
trenches  in  on  the  other :  result,  two  figures  varying  from 
fourteen  to  forty.  These  two  figures  represented  the 
duration  of  the  siege. 

For  all  that,  siege  arithmetic,  right  in  general,  has  often 


WHITE  LIES.  323 

been  terribly  disturbed  by  one  little  incident,  that  occurs 
from  time  to  time  ;  viz.,  Genius  mside.  And,  indeed,  this 
is  one  of  the  sins  of  genius ;  it  goes  and  puts  out  calcula- 
tions that  have  stood  the  brunt  of  years.  Archimedes 
and  Todleben  were,  no  doubt,  clever  men  in  their  way 
and  good  citizens,  yet  one  characteristic  of  delicate  men's 
minds  they  lacked  —  veneration ;  they  showed  a  sad  dis- 
respect for  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  deranged  the  cal- 
culations which  so  much  learning  and  patient  thought 
had  hallowed,  disturbed  the  minds  of  white-haired  vet- 
erans, took  sieges  out  of  the  grasp  of  science,  and  plunged 
them  back  into  the  field  of  wild  conjecture. 

Our  generals  then  sat  down  at  fourteen  hundred  yards' 
distance,  and  planned  the  trenches  artistically,  and  directed 
them  to  be  cut  at  artful  angles,  and  so  creep  nearer  and 
nearer  the  devoted  town.  Then  the  Prussians,  whose 
hearts  had  been  in  their  shoes  at  first  sight  of  the  French 
shakos,  plucked  up,  and  turned  not  the  garrison  only  but 
the  population  of  the  town  into  engineers  and  masons. 
Their  fortifications  grew  almost  as  fast  as  the  French 
trenches. 

The  first  day  of  the  siege,  a  young  but  distinguished 
brigadier  in  the  French  army  rode  to  the  quarters  of 
General  Raimbaut,  who  commanded  his  division,  and  was 
his  personal  friend,  and  respectfully  tut  firmly  entreated 
the  general  to  represent  to  the  commander-in-chief  the 
propriety  of  assaulting  that  new  bastion  before  it  should 
become  dangerous.  "  My  brigade  shall  carry  it  in  fifteen 
minutes,  general,"  said  he. 

"  What !  cross  all  that  open  under  fire  ?  One-half  your 
brigade  would  never  reach  the  bastion." 

"  But  the  other  half  would  take  it." 

"That  is  not  so  certain." 

General  Raimbaut  refused  to  forward  the  young 
colonel's  proposal  to  headquarters.  "I  will  not  subject 
you  to  two  refusals  in  one  matter,"  said  he,  kindly. 


324  WHITE   LIES. 

The  young  colonel  lingered.  He  said,  respectfully, 
"  One  question,  general,  when  that  bastion  cuts  its  teeth 
will  it  be  any  easier  to  take  than  now  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  it  will  always  be  easier  to  take  it  from 
the  sap  thai!  to  cross  the  open  under  fire  to  it,  and  take 
it.  Come,  colonel,  to  your  trenches  ;  and  if  your  friend 
should  cut  its  teeth,  you  shall  have  a  battery  in  your 
attack  that  will  set  its  teeth  on  edge.     Ha !  ha ! " 

The  young  colonel  did  not  echo  his  chief's  humor ;  he 
saluted  gravely,  and  returned  to  the  trenches. 

The  next  morning  three  fresh  tiers  of  embrasures 
grinned  one  above  another  at  the  besiegers.  The  besieged 
had  been  up  all  night,  and  not  idle.  In  half  these  aper- 
tures black  muzzles  showed  themselves. 

The  bastion  had  cut  its  front  teeth. 

Thirteenth  day  of  the  siege. 

The  trenches  were  within  four  hundred  yards  of  the 
enemy's  guns,  and  it  was  hot  work  in  them.  The  enemy 
had  three  tiers  of  guns  in  the  round  bastion,  and  on  the 
top  they  had  got  a  long  48-pounder,  which  they  worked 
with  a  swivel  joint,  or  the  like,  and  threw  a  great  roaring 
shot  into  any  part  of  the  French  lines. 

As  to  the  commander-in-chief  and  his  generals,  they 
were  dotted  about  a  long  way  in  the  rear,  and  no  shot 
came  as  far  as  them ;  but  in  the  trenches  the  men  began 
now  to  fall  fast,  especially  on  the  left  attack,  which  faced 
the  round  bastion.  Our  young  colonel  had  got  his  heavy 
battery,  and  every  now  and  then  he  would  divert  the 
general  efforts  of  the  bastion,  and  compel  it  to  concen- 
trate its  attention  on  him,  by  pounding  away  at  it  till  it 
was  all  in  sore  places.  But  he  meant  it  worse  mischief 
than  that.  Still,  as  heretofore,  regarding  it  as  the  key 
to  Philipsburg,  he  had  got  a  large  force  of  engineers  at 
work  driving  a  mine  towards  it,  and  to  this  he  trusted 
more  than  to  breaching  it  j  for  the  bigger  holes  he  made 


WHITE   LIES.  325 

in  it  by  day  were  all  stopped  at  night  by  the  towns- 
people. 

This  colonel  was  not  a  favorite  in  the  division  to  which 
his  brigade  belonged.  He  was  a  good  soldier,  but  a  dull 
companion.  He  was  also  accused  of  hautexir  and  of  an 
unsoldierly  reserve  with  his  brother  officers. 

Some  loose-tongued  ones  even  called  him  a  milk-sop, 
because  he  was  constantly  seen  conversing  with  the 
priest  —  he  who  had  nothing  to  say  to  an  honest  soldier. 

Others  said,  "No,  hang  it,  he  is  not  a  milk-sop  :  he  is 
a  tried  soldier :  he  is  a  sulky  beggar  all  the  same." 
Those  under  his  immediate  command  were  divided  in 
opinion  about  him.  There  was  something  about  him 
they  could  not  understand.  Why  was  his  sallow  face  so 
stern,  so  sad  ?  and  why  with  all  that  was  his  voice  so 
gentle  ?  somehow  the  few  words  that  did  fall  from  his 
mouth  were  prized.  One  old  soldier  used  to  say,  "I 
would  rather  have  a  word  from  our  brigadier  than  from 
the  commander-in-chief."  Others  thought  he  must  at 
some  part  of  his  career  have  pillaged  a  church,  taken  the 
altar-piece,  and  sold  it  to  a  picture-dealer  in  Paris,  or 
Avhipped  the  earrings  out  of  the  Madonna's  ears,  or  ad- 
mitted the  female  enemy  to  quarter  upon  ungenerous 
conditions :  this,  or  some  such  crime  to  which  we  poor 
soldiers  are  liable  :  and  now  was  committing  the  mistake 
of  remording  himself  about  it.  "  Always  alongside  the 
chaplain,  you  see  ! " 

This  cold  and  silent  man  had  won  the  heart  of  the 
most  talkative  sergeant  in  the  French  army.  Sergeant 
La  Croix  protested  with  many  oaths  that  all  the  best 
generals  of  the  day  had  commanded  him  in  turn,  and 
that  his  present  colonel  was  the  first  that  had  succeeded 
in  inspiring  him  with  unlimited  confidence.  "He  knows 
every  point  of  war  —  this  one,"  said  La  Croix,  "I  heard 
him  beg  and  pray  for  leave  to  storm  this  thundering 


326  WHITE   LIES. 

bastion  before  it  was  armed :  but  no,  the  old  muffs 
would  be  wiser  than  our  colonel.  So  now  here  we  are 
kept  at  bay  by  a  ])lace  that  Julius  Csesar  and  Cannibal 
wouldn't  have  made  two  bites  at  apiece ;  no  more  would 
I  if  I  was  the  old  boy  out  there  behind  the  hill."  In 
such  terms  do  sergeants  denote  commanders-in-chief — ■ 
at  a  distance.  A  voluble  sergeant  has  more  influence 
with  the  men  than  the  minister  of  war  is  perhaps 
aware :  on  the  whole,  the  24th  brigade  would  have  fol- 
lowed its  gloomy  colonel  to  grim  death  and  a  foot  far- 
ther. One  thing  gave  these  men  a  touch  of  superstitious 
reverence  for  their  commander.  He  seemed  to  them 
free  from  physical  weakness.  He  never  sat  doioi  to 
dinner,  and  seemed  never  to  sleep.  At  no  hour  of  the 
day  or  night  were  the  sentries  safe  from  his  visits. 

Very  annoying.  But,  after  awhile,  it  led  to  keen 
watchfulness :  the  more  so  that  the  sad  and  gloomy  col- 
onel showed  by  his  manner  he  appreciated  it.  Indeed, 
one  night  he  even  opened  his  marble  jaws,  and  told  Ser- 
geant La  Croix  that  a  watchful  sentry  was  an  important 
soldier,  not  to  his  brigade  only,  but  to  the  whole  army. 
Judge  whether  the  maxim  and  the  implied  encomium 
did  not  circulate  next  morning,  with  additions. 

Sixteenth  day  of  the  siege.  The  round  bastion  opened 
fire  at  eight  o'clock,  not  on  the  opposing  battery,  but  on 
the  right  of  the  French  attack.  Its  advanced  position 
enabled  a  portion  of  its  guns  to  rake  these  trenches 
slant-wise :  and  depressing  its  guns  it  made  the  round 
shot  strike  the  ground  first  and  ricochet  over. 

On  this  our  colonel  opened  on  them  with  all  his  guns : 
one  of  these  he  served  himself.  Among  his  other  war- 
like accomplishments,  he  was  a  wonderful  shot  with  a 
cannon.  He  showed  them  capital  practice  this  morning: 
drove  two  embrasures  into  one,  and  knocked  about  a  ton 
of  masonry  oft"  the  parapet.     Then  taking  advantage  of 


WHITE   LIES.  327 

this,  he  served  two  of  his  guus  with  grape,  and  swept 
the  enemy  off  the  top  of  the  bastion,  and  kept  it  clear. 
He  made  it  so  hot  they  could  not  work  the  upper  guns. 
Then  they  turned  the  other  two  tiers  all  upon  him,  and 
at  it  both  sides  went  ding,  dong,  till  the  guns  were  too 
hot  to  be  worked.  So  then  Sergeant  La  Croix  popped 
his  head  up  from  the  battery,  and  showed  the  enemy  a 
great  white  plate.  This  was  meant  to  convey  to  them 
an  invitation  to  dine  with  the  French  army :  the  other 
side  of  the  table  of  course. 

To  the  credit  of  Prussian  intelligence  be  it  recorded, 
that  this  pantomimic  hint  was  at  once  taken  and  both 
sides  went  to  dinner. 

The  fighting  colonel,  however,  remained  in  the  battery, 
and  kept  a  detachment  of  his  gunners  employed  cooling 
the  guns  and  repairing  the  touch-holes.  He  ordered  his 
two  cutlets  and  his  glass  of  water  into  the  battery. 

Meantime,  the  enemy  fired  a  single  gun  at  long  inter- 
vals, as  much  as  to  say,  "  We  had  the  last  word." 

Let  trenches  be  cut  ever  so  artfully,  there  will  be  a 
little  space  exposed  here  and  there  at  the  angles.  These 
spaces  the  men  are  ordered  to  avoid,  or  whip  quickly 
across  them  into  cover. 

Now  the  enemy  had  just  got  the  range  of  one  of  these 
places  with  their  solitary  gun,  and  had  already  dropped 
a  couple  of  shot  right  on  to  it.  A  camp  follower  with  a 
tray,  two  cutlets,  and  a  glass  of  water,  came  to  this  open 
space  just  as  a  puff  of  white  smoke  burst  from  the  bas- 
tion. Instead  of  instantly  seeking  shelter  till  the  shot 
had  struck,  he,  in  his  inexperience,  thought  the  shot 
must  have  struck,  and  all  danger  be  over.  He  stayed 
there  mooning  instead  of  pelting  imder  cover :  the  shot 
(eighteen-pound)  struck  him  right  on  the  breast,  knocked 
him  into  spilikins,  and  sent  the  mutton  cutlets  flying. 

The  human  fragments  lay  quiet,  ten  yards  off.     But  a 


328  WHITE    LIES. 

soldier  that  wa:;  eating  his  dinner  kicked  it  over,  and 
jumped  up  at  the  side  of  "Death's  Alley"  (as  it  was 
christened  next  minute),  and  danced  and  yelled  with 
pain. 

"Haw!  haw!  haw!"  roared  a  soldier  from  the  other 
side  of  the  alley. 

"What  is  that?"  cried' Sergeant  La  Croix.  "What 
do  you  laugh  at,  Private  Cadel  ?  "  said  he  sternly,  for, 
though  he  was  too  far  in  the  trench  to  see,  he  had  heard 
that  horrible  sound  a  soldier  knows  from  every  other, 
the  "thud"  of  a  round  shot  striking  man  or  horse. 

"  Sergeant,"  said  Cadel,  respectfully,  "  I  laugh  to  see 
Private  Dard,  that  got  the  wind  of  the  shot,  dance  and 
sing,  when  the  man  that  got  the  shot  itself  does  not  say 
a  word." 

"The  wind  of  the  shot,  you  rascal!"  roared  Private 
Dard :  "  look  here  ! "  and  he  showed  the  blood  running 
down  his  face. 

The  shot  had  actually  driven  a  splinter  of  bone  out  of 
the  sutler  into  Dard's  temple. 

"  I  am  the  unluckiest  fellow  in  the  army,"  remon- 
strated Dard:  and  he  stamped  in  a  circle. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  only  the  second  unluckiest  this 
time,"  said  a  young  soldier  with  his  mouth  full ;  and, 
with  a  certain  dry  humor,  he  pointed  vaguely  over  his 
shoulder  with  the  fork  towards  the  corpse. 

The  trenches  laughed  and  assented. 

This  want  of  sympathy  and  justice  irritated  Dard. 
"You  cursed  fools!"  cried  he.  "He  is  gone  where  we 
must  all  go  —  without  any  trouble.  But  look  at  me.  I 
am  always  getting  barked.  Dogs  of  Prussians !  they 
pick  me  out  among  a  thousand.  I  shall  have  a  headache 
all  the  afteruoon,  you  see  else." 

Some  of  our  heads  would  never  have  ached  again:  but 
Dard  had  a  good  thick  skull. 


WHITE   LIES.  329 

Dard  pulled  out  his  spilikin  savagely. 

"I'll  wrap  it  up  in  paper  for  Jacintha,"  said  he. 
•'Then  that  will  learn  her  what  a  poor  soldier  has  to 
go  through." 

Even  this  consolation  was  denied  Private  Dard. 

Corporal  Coriolanus  Gand,  a  bit  of  an  infidel  from 
Lyons,  Avho  sometimes  amused  himself  with  the  Breton's 
superstition,  told  him  with  a  grave  face,  that  the  splinter 
belonged  not  to  him,  but  to  the  sutler,  and,  though  so 
small,  was  doubtless  a  necessary  part  of  his  frame. 

"If  you  keep  that,  it  will  be  a  bone  of  contention 
between  you  two,"  said  he;  "especially  at  midnight. 
He  icill  be  always  coming  hack  to  you  for  it." 

"  There,  take  it  away  !  "  said  the  Breton  hastily,  "  and 
bury  it  with  the  poor  fellow." 

Sergeant  La  Croix  presented  himself  before  the  colonel 
with  a  rueful  face  and  saluted  him  and  said,  "  Colonel,  I 
beg  a  thousand  pardons  ;  your  dinner  has  been  spilt  —  a 
shot  from  the  bastion." 

"iSTo  matter,"  said  the  colonel.  "Give  me  a  piece  of 
bread  instead." 

La  Croix  went  for  it  himself,  and  on  his  return  found 
Cadel  sitting  on  one  side  of  Death's  Alley,  and  Dard  with 
his  head  bound  up  on  the  other.  They  had  got  a  bottle 
which  each  put  up  in  turn  wherever  he  fancied  the  next 
round  shot  would  strike,  and  they  were  betting  their 
afternoon  rations  which  would  get  the  Prussians  to  hit 
the  bottle  first. 

La  Croix  pulled  both  their  ears  playfully. 

"Time  is  up  for  playing  marbles,"  said  he.  ■  "Be 
off,  and  play  at  duty,"  and  he  bundled  them  into  the 
battery. 

It  was  an  hour  past  midnight :  a  cloudy  night.  The 
moon  was  u]),  but  seen  only  by  fitful  gleams.  A  calm, 
peaceful  silence  reigned. 


330  WHITE   LIES. 

Dard  was  sentinel  in  the  battery. 

An  officer  going  his  rounds  found  the  said  sentinel  flat 
instead  of  vertical.  He  stirred  him  with  his  scabbard, 
and  up  jumped  Dard. 

"  It's  all  right,  sergeant.  0  Lord  !  it's  the  colonel.  I 
wasn't  asleep,  colonel." 

"  I  have  not  accused  you.  But  you  will  explain  what 
you  were  doing." 

"  Colonel,"  said  Dard,  all  in  a  flutter,  "  I  was  taking  a 
squint  at  them,  because  I  saw  something.  The  beggars 
are  building  a  wall,  now." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Between  us  and  the  bastion." 

''  Show  me." 

''  I  can't,  colonel ;  the  moon  has  gone  in ;  but  I  did 
see  it." 

''  How  long  was  it  ?  " 

"  About  a  hundred  yards." 

''  How  high  ?  " 

*'  Colonel,  it  was  ten  feet  high  if  it  was  an  inch." 

"  Have  you  good  sight  ?  " 

"  La !  colonel,  wasn't  I  a  bit  of  a  poacher  before  I 
took  to  the  bayonet  ?  " 

"Good!  Now  reflect.  If  you  persist  in  this  state- 
ment, I  turn  out  the  brigade  on  your  information." 

"I'll  stand  the  fire  of  a  corporal's  guard  at  break  of 
day  if  I  make  a  mistake  now,"  said  Dard. 

The  colonel  glided  away,  called  his  captain  and  first 
lieutenants,  and  said  two  words  in  each  ear,  that  made 
them  spring  off  their  backs. 

Dard,  marching  to  an  fro,  musket  on  shoulder,  found 
himself  suddenly  surrounded  by  grim,  silent,  but  deadly 
eager  soldiers,  that  came  pouring  like  bees  into  the  open 
space  behind  the  battery.  The  officers  came  round  the 
colonel. 


WHITE   LIES.  331 

"  Attend  to  two  things,"  said  he  to  the  captains. 
"Don't  fire  till  they  are  within  ten  yards:  and  don't 
follow  them  unless  I  lead  you." 

The  men  were  then  told  off  by  companies,  some  to  the 
battery,  some  to  the  trenches,  some  were  kept  on  each 
side  Death's  Alley,  ready  for  a  rush. 

They  were  not  all  of  them  in  position,  when  those 
behind  the  parapet  saw,  as  it  were,  something  deepen  the 
gloom  of  night,  some  fourscore  yards  to  the  front:  it 
was  like  a  line  of  black  ink  suddenly  drawn  upon  a 
sheet  covered  with  Indian  ink. 

It  seems  quite  stationary.  The  novices  wondered  what 
it  was.     The  veterans  muttered  —  '•'  Three  deep." 

Though  it  looked  stationary,  it  got  blacker  and  blacker. 
The  soldiers  of  the  24th  brigade  griped  their  muskets 
hard,  and  set  their  teeth,  and  the  sergeants  had  much 
ado  to  keep  them  quiet. 

All  of  a  sudden,  a  loud  yell  on  the  right  of  the  brigade, 
two  or  three  single  shots  from  the  trenches  in  that 
direction,  followed  by  a  volley,  the  cries  of  wounded 
men,  and  the  fierce  hurrahs  of  an  attacking  part3\ 

Our  colonel  knew  too  well  those  sounds :  the  next 
parallel  had  been  surprised,  and  the  Prussian  bayonet 
was  now  silently  at  work. 

Disguise  was  now  impossible.  At  the  first  shot,  a 
guttural  voice  in  front  of  Dujardin's  men  was  heard  to 
give  a  word  of  command.  There  was  a  sharp  rattle  and 
in  a  moment  the  thick  black  line  was  tipped  with  glit- 
tering steel. 

A  roar  and  a  rush,  and  the  Prussian  line  three  deep 
came  furiously  like  a  huge  steel-pointed  wave,  at  the 
French  lines.  A  tremendous  wave  of  fire  rushed  out  to 
meet  that  wave  of  steel :  a  crash  of  two  hundred  muskets, 
and  all  was  still.  Tlien  yon  could  see  through  the  black 
steel-tipped   line  in  a  hundred   frightful  gaps,  and  the 


332  WHITE   LIES. 

ground  sparkled  with  bayonets  and  the  air  rang  with  the 
cries  of  the  wounded. 

A  tremendous  cheer  from  the  brigade,  and  the  colonel 
charged  at  the  head  of  his  column,  out  by  Death's 
Alley. 

The  broken  wall  was  melting  away  into  the  night. 
The  colonel  wheeled  his  men  to  the  right :  one  company, 
led  by  the  impetuous  young  Captain  JuUien,  followed 
the  flying  enemy. 

The  other  attack  had  been  only  too  successful.  They 
shot  the  sentries,  and  bayoneted  many  of  the  soldiers  in 
their  tents :  others  escaped  by  running  to  the  rear,  and 
some  into  the  next  parallel. 

Several,  half  dressed,  snatched  up  their  muskets,  killed 
one  Prussian,  and  fell  riddled  like  sieves. 

A  gallant  officer  got  a  company  together  into  the  place 
of  arms  and  formed  in  line. 

Half  the  Prussian  force  went  at  them,  the  rest  swept 
the  trenches :  the  French  company  delivered  a  deadly 
volley,  and  the  next  moment  clash  the  two  forces 
crossed  bayonets,  and  a  silent  deadly  stabbing  match 
was  played :  the  final  result  of  which  was  inevitable. 
The  Prussians  were  five  to  one.  The  gallant  officer  and 
the  poor  fellows  who  did  their  duty  so  stoutly,  had  no 
thought  left  but  to  die  hard,  when  suddenly  a  roaring 
cheer  seemed  to  come  from  the  rear  rank  of  the  enemy. 
"France!  France!"  Half  the  24th  brigade  came  leap- 
ing and  swarming  over  the  trenches  in  the  Prussian  rear. 
The  Prussians  wavered.  "France ! "  cried  the  little  party 
that  were  being  overpowered,  and  charged  in  their  turn 
with  such  fury  that  in  two  seconds  the  two  French  corps 
went  through  the  enemy's  centre  like  paper,  and  their 
very  bayonets  clashed  together  in  more  than  one  Prus- 
sian body. 

Broken  thus   in   two   fragments   the   Prussian   corps 


WHITE   LIES.  333 

ceased  to  exist  as  a  military  force.  The  men  fled  each 
his  own  way  back  to  the  fort,  and  many  flung  away  their 
muskets,  for  French  soldiers  were  swarming  in  from  all 
quarters.  At  this  moment,  bang  !  bang!  bang!  from  the 
bastion. 

"They  are  firing  on  my  brigade,"  said  our  colonel. 
"  Who  has  led  his  company  there  against  my  orders  ? 
Captain  Neville,  into  the  battery,  and  fire  twenty  rounds 
at  the  bastion  !  Aim  at  the  flashes  from  their  middle 
tier." 

"Yes,  colonel." 

The  battery  opened  with  all  its  guns  on  the  bastion. 
The  right  attack  followed  suit.  The  town  answered,  and 
a  furious  cannonade  roared  and  blazed  all  down  both 
lines  till  daybreak.     Hell  seemed  broken  loose. 

Captain  Jullien  had  followed  the  flying  foe  :  but  could 
not  come  up  with  them  :  and,  as  the  enemy  had  prepared 
for  every  contingency,  the  fatal  bastion,  after  first  throw- 
ing a  rocket  or  two  to  discover  their  position,  poured 
showers  of  grape  into  them,  killed  many,  and  would 
have  killed  more  but  that  Captain  Neville  and  his  gun- 
ners happened  by  mere  accident  to  dismount  one  gun  and 
to  kill  a  couple  of  gunners  at  the  others.  This  gave  the 
remains  of  the  company  time  to  disperse  and  run  back. 
When  the  men  were  mustered,  Captain  Jullien  and 
twenty-five  of  his  company  did  not  answer  to  their 
names.  At  daybreak  they  were  visible  from  the  trenches 
lying  all  by  themselves  within  eighty  yards  of  the 
bastion. 

A  flag  of  truce  came  from  the  fort :  the  dead  were  re- 
moved on  both  sides  and  buried.  Some  Prussian  officerg 
strolled  into  the  French  lines.  Civilities  and  cigars 
exchanged  :  "  Bo7i  jour,^^  "  Gooten  daeg : "  then  at  it 
again,  ding  dong  all  down  the  line  blazing  and  roaring. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  besiecred  had  got  a  man  on  horse- 


334  WHITE   LIES. 

back,  on  top  of  a  hill,  with  colored  flags  in  liis  hand, 
making  signals. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  now  ?  "  inquired  Dard. 

"You  will  see,"  said  La  Croix,  affecting  mystery;  he 
knew  no  more  than  the  other. 

Presently  off  went  Long  Tom  on  the  top  of  the  Ijas- 
tion,  and  the  shot  came  roaring  over  the  heads  of  the 
speakers. 

The  flags  were  changed,  and  off  went  Long  Tom  again 
at  an  elevation. 

Ten  seconds  had  scarcely  elapsed  when  a  tremendous 
explosion  took  place  on  the  French  right.  Long  Tom 
was  throwing  red-hot  shot;  one  had  fallen  on  a  powder 
wagon,  and  blown  it  to  pieces,  and  killed  two  poor  fel- 
lows and  a  horse,  and  turned  an  artillery  man  at  some 
distance  into  a  seeming  nigger,  but  did  him  no  great 
harm  ;  only  took  him  three  days  to  get  the  powder  out 
of  his  clothes  with  pipe  clay,  and  off  his  face  with  raw 
potato-peel. 

When  the  tumbril  exploded,  the  Prussians  could  be 
heard  to  cheer,  and  they  turned  to  and  fired  every  iron 
spout  they  owned.     Long  Tom  worked  all  day. 

They  got  into  a  corner  where  the  guns  of  the  battery 
could  not  hit  them  or  him,  and  there  was  his  long  muzzle 
looking  towards  the  sky,  and  sending  half  a  hundred- 
weight of  iron  up  into  the  clouds,  and  plunging  down  a 
mile  off  into  the  French  lines. 

And,  at  every  shot,  the  man  on  horseback  made  sig- 
nals to  let  the  gunners  know  where  the  shot  fell. 

At  last,  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  they  threw  a  forty- 
eight-pound  shot  slap  into  the  commander-in-chief's 
tent,  a  mile  and  a  half  behind  trenches. 

Down  comes  a  glittering  aide-de-camp  as  hard  as  he 
can  gallop. 

"Colonel  Dujardin,  what  are  you  about,  sir?      Your 


WHITE   LIES.  335 

bastion  has  thrown  a  round  shot  into  the  commander- 
in-chief's  tent." 

The  colonel  did  not  appear  so  staggered  as  the  aide- 
de-camp  expected. 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  he  quietly.  "I  observed  they 
were  trying  distances." 

"Must  not  happen  again,  colonel.  You  must  drive 
them  from  the  gun." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Why,  where  is  the  difficulty  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  step  into  the  battery, 
I  will  show  you,"  said  the  colonel. 

"If  you  please,"  said  the  aide-de-camp  stiffly. 

Colonel  Dujardin  took  him  to  the  parapet,  and  began, 
in  a  calm,  painstaking  way,  to  show  him  how  and  why 
none  of  his  guns  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon  Long 
Tom. 

In  the  middle  of  the  explanation  a  melodious  sound 
was  heard  in  the  air  above  them,  like  a  swarm  of  Brob- 
dingnag  bees. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  inquired  the  aide-de-camp. 

"What?     I  see  nothing." 

"That  humming  noise." 

"  Oh,  that  ?  Prussian  bullets.  Ah,  by-the-by,  it  is  a 
compliment  to  your  uniform,  monsieur;  they  take  you 
for  some  one  of  importance.  Well,  as  I  was  observ- 
ing "  — 

"  Your  explanation  is  sufficient,  colonel ;  let  us  get  out 
of  this.  Ha,  ha !  you  are  a  cool  hand,  colonel,  I  must 
say.  But  your  battery  is  a  warm  place  enough :  I  shall 
report  it  so  at  headquarters." 

The  grim  colonel  relaxed. 

''Captain,"  said  he  politely,  "you  shall  not  have  rid- 
den to  my  post  in  vain.  Will  you  lend  me  your  horse 
for  ten  minutes  ?  " 


336  WHITE   LIES. 

"Certainly;  and  I  will  inspect  your  trenches  mean- 
time." 

"Do  so;  oblige  me  by  avoiding  that  angle;  it  is 
exposed,  and  the  enemy  have  got  the  range  to  an  inch." 

Colonel  Dujardin  slipped  into  his  quarters ;  of¥  with 
his  half-dress  jacket  and  his  dirty  boots,  and  presently 
out  he  came  full  fig,  glittering  brighter  than  the  other, 
with  one  French  and  two  foreign  orders  shining  on  his 
breast,  mounted  the  aide-de-camp's  horse,  and  away  full 
pelt. 

Admitted,  after  some  delay,  into  the  generalissimo's 
tent,  Dujardin  found  the  old  gentleman  surrounded  by 
his  staff  and  wroth  :  nor  was  the  danger  to  which  he 
had  been  exposed  his  sole  cause  of  ire. 

The  shot  had  burst  through  his  canvas,  struck  a  table 
on  which  was  a  large  inkstand,  and  had  squirted  the 
whole  contents  over  the  despatches  he  was  writing  for 
Paris. 

Now  this  old  gentleman  prided  himself  upon  the  neat- 
ness of  his  despatches:  a  blot  on  his  paper  darkened 
bis  soul. 

Colonel  Dujardin  expressed  his  profound  regret.  The 
commander,  however,  continued  to  remonstrate.  "  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  writing  to  do,"  said  he,  "  as  you 
must  be  aware  ;  and,  when  I  am  writing,  I  expect  to  be 
quiet." 

Colonel  Dujardin  assented  respectfully  to  the  justice 
of  this.  He  then  explained  at  full  length  w^hy  he  could 
not  bring  a  gun  in  the  battery  to  silence  "  Long  Tom," 
and  quietly  asked  to  be  permitted  to  run  a  gun  out  of 
the  trenches,  and  take  a  shot  at  the  offender, 

"  It  is  a  point-blank  distance,  and  I  have  a  new  gun, 
with  which  a  man  ought  to  be  able  to  hit  his  own  ball 
at  three  hundred  yards." 

The  commander  hesitated. 


WHITE   LTES.  337 

"I  cannot  have  the  men  exposed." 

"  I  engage  not  to  lose  a  man  — except  him  ^Yho  fires 
the  gun.*    He  must  take  his  chance." 

"AVell,  colonel,  it  must  be  done  by  volunteers.  The 
men  must  not  be  ordered  out  on  such  a  service  as  that." 

Colonel  Dujardin  bowed,  and  retired. 

"  Volunteers  to  go  out  of  the  trenches  !  "  cried  Ser- 
geant La  Croix,  in  a  stentorian  voice,  standing  erect  as 
a  poker,  and  swelling  with  importance. 

There  were  fifty  offers  in  less  than  as  many  seconds. 

"  Only  twelve  allowed  to  go,"  said  the  sergeant ;  ''  and 
I  am  one,"  added  he,  adroitly  inserting  himself. 

A  gun  was  taken  down,  placed  on  a  carriage,  and 
posted  near  Death's  Alley,  but  out  of  the  line  of  fire. 

The  colonel  himself  superintended  the  loading  of  this 
gun ;  and  to  the  surprise  of  the  men  had  the  shot 
weighed  first,  and  then  weighed  out  the  powder  himself. 

He  then  waited  quietl;^  a  long  time  till  the  bastion 
pitched  one  of  its  periodical  shots  into  Death's  Alley ; 
but  no  sooner  had  the  shot  struck,  and  sent  the  sand 
flying  past  the  two  lanes  of  ciirious  noses,  than  Colonel 
Dujardin  jumped  upon  the  gun  and  waved  his  cocked 
hat.  At  this  preconcerted  signal,  his  battery  opened 
fire  on  the  bastion,  and  the  battery  to  his  right  opened 
on  the  wall  that  fronted  them ;  and  the  colonel  gave  the 
word  to  run  the  gun  out  of  the  trenches.  They  ran  it 
out  into  the  cloud  of  smoke  their  own  guns  were  belch- 
ing forth,  unseen  by  the  enemy;  but  they  had  no  sooner 
twisted  it  into  the  line  of  Long  Tom,  than  the  smoke 
was  gone,  and  there  they  were,  a  fair  mark. 

''  Back  into  the  trenches,  all  but  one ! "  roared 
Dujardin. 

And  in  they  ran  like  rabbits. 
.  "Quick  !  the  elevation." 
22 


338  WHITE   LIES. 

Colonel  Dujardin  and  La  Croix  i-aised  the  muzzle  to 
the  mark  —  hoo,  hoo,  hoo  I  ping,  ping,  ping  !  came  the 
bullets  about  their  ears. 

"  Away  with  you ! "  cried  the  colonel,  taking  the 
linstock  from  him. 

Then  Colonel  Dujardin,  fifteen  yards  from  the  trenches, 
in  full  blazing  uniform,  showed  two  armies  what  one 
intrepid  soldier  can  do.  He  kneeled  down  and  adjusted 
his  gun,  just  as  he  would  have  done  in  a  practising 
ground.  He  had  a  yjot  shot  to  take,  and  a  pot  shot  he 
Avould  take.  He  ignored  three  hundred  muskets  that 
were  levelled  at  him.  He  looked  along  his  gun,  adjusted 
it,  and  re-adjusted  it  to  a  hair's  breadth.  The  enemy's 
bullets  pattered  upon  it :  still  he  adjusted  it  delicatel}'. 
His  men  were  groaning  and  tearing  their  hair  inside  at 
his  danger. 

At  last  it  was  levelled  to  his  mind,  and  then  his  move- 
ments were  as  quick  as  they  had  hitherto  been  slow. 
In  a  moment  he  stood  erect  in  the  half-fencing  attitude 
of  a  gunner,  and  his  linstock  at  the  touch-hole :  a  huge 
tongue  of  flame,  a  volume  of  smoke,  a  roar,  and  the  iron 
thunderbolt  was  on  its  way,  and  the  colonel  walked 
haughtily  but  rapidly  back  to  the  trenches ;  for  in  all 
this  no  bravado.  He  was  there  to  make  a  shot ;  not  to 
throw  a  chance  of  life  away  watching  the  effect. 

Ten  thousand  eyes  did  that  for  him. 

Both  French  and  Prussians  risked  their  own  lives 
craning  out  to  see  what  a  colonel  in  full  uniform  was 
doing  under  fire  from  a  whole  line  of  forts,  and  what 
would  be  his  fate  ;  but  when  he  fired  the  gun  their 
curiosity  left  the  man  and  followed  the  iron  thunderbolt. 

For  two  seconds  all  was  uncertain ;  the  ball  was 
travelling. 

Tom  gave  a  rear  like  a  wild  horse,  his  protruding 
muzzle  went  up  sky-high,  then  was  seen  no  more,  and  a 


WHITE   LIES.  339 

ring  of  old  iron  and  a  clatter  of  fragments  was  heard  on 
the  top  of  the  bastion.  Long  Tom  was  dismounted. 
Oh  I  the  roar  of  laughter  and  triumph  from  one  end  to 
another  of  the  trenches ;  and  the  clapping  of  forty  thou- 
sand hands  that  went  on  for  full  five  minutes ;  then  the 
Prussians,  either  through  a  burst  of  generous  praise  for 
an  act  so  chivalrous  and  so  brilliant,  or  because  they 
would  not  be  crowed  over,  clapped  their  ten  thousand 
hands  as  loudly,  and  thus  thundering,  heart-thrilling  salvo 
of  applause  answered  salvo  on  both  sides  that  terrible 
arena. 

That  evening  came  a  courteous  and  flattering  message 
from  the  commander-in-chief  to  Colonel  Dujardin ;  and 
several  officers  visited  his  quarters  to  look  at  him  ;  they 
went  back  disappointed.  The  cry  was,  "  What  a  miser- 
able, melancholy  dog  !  I  expected  to  see  a  fine,  dashing 
fellow." 

The  trenches  neared  the  town.  Colonel  Dujardin's 
mine  was  far  advanced  ;  the  end  of  the  chamber  was 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  bastion.  Of  late,  the  colonel 
had  often  visited  this  mine  in  person.  He  seemed  a 
little  uneasy  about  something  in  that  quarter;  but  no 
one  knew  what :  he  was  a  silent  man.  The  third  even- 
ing, after  he  dismounted  Long  Tom,  he  received  private 
notice  that  an  order  was  coming  down  from  the  com- 
mander-in-chief to  assault  the  bastion.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  but  said  nothing.  That  same  night  the  colonel 
and  one  of  his  lieutenants  stole  out  of  the  trenches,  and 
by  the  help  of  a  pitch-dark,  windy  night,  got  under  the 
bastion  unperceived,  and  crept  round  it,  and  made  their 
observations,  and  got  safe  back.  About  noon  down  came 
General  Eaimbaut. 

"  Well,  colonel,  you  are  to  liave  your  way  at  last. 
Your  bastion  is  to  be  stormed  this  afternoon  previous  to 


340  WHITE    LIES. 

the  general  assault.  Why,  how  is  this  ?  you  don't  seem 
enchanted  ?  " 

"  I  am  not." 

"Why,  it  was  you  who  pressed  for  the  assault." 

'•  At  the  right  time,  general,  not  the  wrong.  In  .five 
days  I  undertake  to  blow  that  bastion  into  the  air.  To 
assault  it  now  would  be  to  waste  our  men." 

General  Raimbaut  thouglit  this  excess  of  caution  a 
great  piece  of  perversity  in  Achilles.  They  were  alone, 
and  he  said  a  little  peevishly,  — 

"Is  not  this  to  blow  hot  and  cold  on  the  same  thing?" 

"Hio,  general,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "Not  on  the 
same  thing.  I  blew  hot  upon  timorous  counsels  ;  I  blow 
cold  on  rash  ones.  General,  last  night  Lieutenant  Flem- 
ing and  I  were  under  that  bastion ;  and  all  round  it." 

"  Ah !  my  prudent  colonel,  I  thought  we  should  not 
talk  long  without  your  coming  out  in  your  true  light. 
If  ever  a  man  secretly  enjoyed  risking  his  life,  it  is  you." 

"  No,  general,"  said  Dujardin  looking  gloomily  down  ; 
"  I  enjoy  neither  that  nor  anything  else.  Live  or  die, 
it  is  all  one  tome ;  but  to  the  lives  of  my  soldiers  I  am 
not  indifferent,  and  never  will  be  while  I  live.  My 
apparent  rashness  of  last  night  was  pure  prudence." 

Eaimbaut's  eye  twinkled  with  suppressed  irony.  "No 
doubt ! "  said  he ;  "  no  doubt !  " 

The  impassive  colonel  would  not  notice  the  other's 
irony  ;  he  went  calmly  on :  — 

"  I  suspected  something  ;  I  went  to  confute,  or  confirm 
that  suspicion.     I  confirmed  it." 

Eat !  tat !  tat !  tat !  tat !  tat !  tat !  was  heard  a  drum. 
Relieving  guard  in  the  mine. 

Colonel  Dujardin  interrupted  himself. 

"  That  comes  apropos,"  said  he.  "  I  expect  one  proof 
more  from  that  quarter.  Sergeant,  send  me  the  sentinel 
they  are  relieving." 


WHITE   LIES.  341 

Sergeant  La  Croix  soon  came  back,  as  pompous  as  a 
hen  with  one  chick,  predominating  with  a  grand  military 
air  over  a  droll  figure  that  chattered  with  cold,  and  held 
its  musket  in  hands  clothed  in  great  mittens.     Dard. 

La  Croix  marched  him  up  as  if  he  had  been  a  file ; 
halted  him  like  a  file,  sang  out  to  him  as  to  a  file,  stento- 
rian and  unintelligible,  after  the  manner  of  sergeants. 

"  Private  No.  4." 

Dard.     P-p-p-present ! 

La  Croix.  Advance  to  the  word  of  command,  and 
speak  to  the  colonel. 

The  shivering  figure  became  an  upright  statue  directly, 
and  carried  one  of  his  mittens  to  his  forehead.  Then, 
suddenly  recognizing  the  rank  of  the  gray-haired  officer, 
he  was  morally  shaken,  but  remained  physically  erect, 
and  stammered,  — 

"  Colonel !  —  general !  —  colonel ! " 

'•  Don't  be  frightened,  my  lad.  But  look  at  the  general 
and  answer  me." 

"Yes!  general!  colonel!"  and  he  levelled  his  eye 
dead  at  the  general,  as  he  would  a  bayonet  at  a  foe, 
being  so  commanded. 

"Now  answer  in  as  few  syllables  as  you  can." 

"  Yes  !  general  —  colonel." 

"  You  have  been  on  guard  in  the  mine." 
•     "Yes,  general." 

"What  did  you  see  there  ?  " 

"  Nothing  ;  it  was  night  down  there." 

"  What  did  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Cold  !     I  —  was  —  in  —  water  —  hugh  I  '* 

"  Did  you  hear  nothing,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What?" 

"  Bum  !  bum  !  bum  I  " 

"  Are  you  sure  you  did  not  hear  particles  of  earth  fall 
at  the  end  of  the  trench  ?  " 


342  WHITE   LIES. 

"  I  think  it  did,  and  this  (touching  liis  musket)  sounded 
of  its  own  accord." 

"  Good !  you  have  answered  well ;  go." 

"  Sergeant,  I  did  not  miss  a  word,"  cried  Dard,  exult- 
ing. He  thought  he  had  passed  a  sort  of  military  college 
examination.  The  sergeant  was  awe-struck  and  disgusted 
at  his  familiarity,  speaking  to  him  before  the  great :  he 
pushed  Private  Dard  hastily  out  of  the  presence,  and 
bundled  him  into  the  trenches. 

"  Are  you  countermined,  then  ?  "  asked  General 
Raimbaut. 

"I  think  not,  general ;  but  the  whole  bastion  is.  And 
we  found  it  had  been  opened  in  the  rear,  and  lately  half 
a  dozen  broad  roads  cut  through  the  masonry." 

■'  To  let  in  re-enforcements  ?  " 

"  Or  to  let  the  men  run  out  in  case  of  an  assault.  I 
have  seen  from  the  first  an  able  hand  behind  that  part 
of  the  defences.  If  we  assault  the  bastion,  they  will 
pick  off  as  many  of  us  as  they  can  with  their  muskets  ; 
then  they  will  run  for  it,  and  fire  a  train,  and  blow  it  and 
us  into  the  air." 

"  Colonel,  this  is  serious.  Are  you  prepared  to  lay  this 
statement  before  the  commander-in-chief?" 

"  I  am,  and  I  do  so  through  you,  the  general  of  my 
division.  I  even  beg  you  to  say,  as  from  me,  that  the 
assault  will  be  mere  suicide  —  bloody  and  useless." 

General  Eaimbaut  went  off  to  headquarters  in  some 
haste,  a  thorough  convert  to  Colonel  Dujardin's  opinion. 
Meantime  the  colonel  went  slowly  to  his  tent.  At  the 
mouth  of  it  a  corporal,  who  was  also  his  body-servant, 
met  him,  saluted,  and  asked  respectfully  if  there  were 
any  orders. 

"  A  few  minutes'  repose,  Fran9ois,  that  is  all.  Do  not 
let  me  be  disturbed  for  an  hour." 

"  Attention  ! "  cried  Frau9ois.  "  Colonel  wants  to 
sleep." 


"WHITE   LIES.  348 

The  tent  was  sentinelled,  and  Dujardin  was  alone  with 
the  past. 

Then  had  the  fools,  that  took  (as  fools  will  do)  deep 
sorrow  for  sullenness,  seen  the  fiery  soldier  droop,  and 
his  wan  face  fall  into  haggard  lines,  and  his  martial 
figure  shrink,  and  heard  his  stout  heart  sigh !  He  took 
a  letter  from  his  bosom  :  it  was  almost  worn  to  pieces. 
He  had  read  it  a  thousand  times,  yet  he  read  it  again. 
A  part  of  the  sweet  sad  words  ran  thus  :  — 

•'  We  must  bow.  We  can  never  be  happy  togetlier  on 
earth  ;  let  us  make  Heaven  our  friend.  This  is  still  left  us,  — 
not  to  blush  for  our  love ;  to  do  our  duty,  and  to  die." 

"How  tender,  but  how  firm,"  thought  Camille.  "I 
might  agitate,  taunt,  grieve  her  I  love,  but  I  could  not 
shake  her,  Xo !  God  and  the  saints  to  my  aid  !  they 
saved  me  from  a  crime  I  now  shudder  at.  And  they 
have  given  me  the  good  chaplain  :  he  prays  with  me,  he 
weeps  for  me.  His  prayers  still  my  beating  heart.  Yes, 
poor  suffering  angel !  I  read  your  will  in  these  tender, 
but  bitter,  words  :  you  prefer  duty  to  love.  And  one 
day  you  will  forget  me  ;  not  yet  awhile,  but  it  will  be 
so.  It  wounds  me  when  I  think  of  it,  but  I  must  bow. 
Your  will  is  sacred.  I  must  rise  to  your  level,  not  drag 
you  to  mine."' 

Then  the  soldier  that  had  stood  between  two  armies  in 
a  hail  of  bullets,  and  fired  a  master-shot,  took  a  little 
book  of  offices  in  one  hand,  —  the  chaplain  had  given  it 
him,  —  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  pious  words,  and 
clung  like  a  child  to  the  pious  words,  and  kissed  his 
lost  wife's  letter,  and  tried  hard  to  be  like  her  he  loved : 
patient,  very  patient,  till  the  end  should  come. 

'^  Qui  vive?''  cried  the  sentinel  outside  to  a  strange 
officer. 

"  France,"  was  his  reply.  He  then  asked  the  sentinel, 
"Where  is  the  colonel  commanding  the  brigade  ?  " 


344  WHITE   LIES. 

The  sentinel  lowered  his  voice,  "  Asleep,  my  officer," 
said  he  ;  for  the  new-comer  carried  two  epaulets. 

"  Wake  him,"  said  the  officer  in  a  tone  of  a  man  used 
to  command  on  a  large  scale. 

Dujardin  heard,  and  did  not  choose  a  stranger  should 
think  he  was  asleep  in  broad  day.  He  came  hastily  out 
of  the  tent,  therefore,  with  Josephine's  letter  in  his 
hand,  and,  in  the  very  act  of  conveying  it  to  his  bosom, 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  —  her  husband. 

Did  you  ever  see  two  duellists  cross  rapiers  ? 

How  unlike  a  theatrical  duel !  How  smooth  and  quiet 
the  bright  blades  are  !  they  glide  into  contact.  They  are 
polished  and  slippery,  yet  they  hold  each  other.  So 
these  two  men's  eyes  met,  and  fastened  :  neither  spoke : 
each  searched  the  other's  face  keenly.  Raynal's  counte- 
nance, prepared  as  he  was  for  this  meeting,  was  like  a 
stern  statue's.  The  other's  face  flushed,  and  his  heart 
raged  and  sickened  at  sight  of  the  man,  that,  once  his 
comrade  and  benefactor,  was  now  possessor  of  the  woman 
he  loved.  But  the  figures  of  both  stood  alike  haughty, 
erect,  and  immovable,  face  to  face. 

Colonel  Raynal  saluted  Colonel  Dujardin  ceremoni- 
ously. Colonel  Dujardin  returned  the  salute  in  the  same 
style. 

"You  thought  I  was  in  Egypt,"  said  Raynal  with  grim 
significance  that  caught  Dujardin's  attention,  though  he 
did  not  know  quite  how  to  interpret  it. 

He  answered  mechanically,  "Yes,  I  did." 

"I  am  sent  here  by  General  Bonaparte  to  take  a  com- 
mand," explained  Raynal. 

"  You  are  welcome.     What  command  ?  " 

"  Yours." 

"Mine?"  cried  Dujardin,  his  forehead  flushing  with 
mortification  and  anger.  "  What,  is  it  not  enough  that 
you  take  my  "  —     He  stopped  then. 


WHITE   LIES.  345 

"Come,  colonel,"  said  the  other  calmly,  "do  not  be 
unjust  to  an  old  comrade.  I  take  your  demi-brigade ; 
but  j-ou  are  promoted  to  Raimbaut's  brigade.  The  ex- 
change is  to  be  made  to-morrow." 

"  Was  it  then  to  announce  to  me  my  promotion  you 
came  to  my  quarters  ? "  and  Camille  looked  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  feelings  at  his  old  comrade. 

"  That  was  the  first  thing,  being  duty,  j'ou  know." 

"What  ?  have  you  anything  else  to  say  to  me,  then?" 

"  I  have." 

"  Is  it  important  ?  for  my  own  duties  will  soon  demand 
me." 

"  It  is  so  important  that,  command  or  no  command,  I 
should  have  come  further  than  the  Rhine  to  say  it  to 
you." 

Let  a  man  be  as  bold  as  a  lion,  a  certain  awe  still 
waits  upon  doubt  and  mystery ;  and  some  of  this  vague 
awe  crept  over  Camille  Dujardin  at  Raynal's  mysterious 
speech,  and  his  grave,  quiet,  significant  manner. 

Had  he  discovered  something,  and  what?  For  Joseph- 
ine's sake,  more  than  his  own,  Camille  was  on  his  guard 
directly. 

Raynal  looked  at  him  in  silence  a  moment. 

"What  ?"  said  he  with  a  slight  sneer,  "has  it  never 
occurred  to  you  that  I  must  have  a  serious  word  to  say 
to  you  ?  First,  let  me  put  you  a  question  :  did  they 
treat  you  well  at  my  house  ?  at  the  chateau  de  Beau- 
repaire  ?  "' 

"  Yes,"  faltered  Camille. 

"  You  met,  I  trust,  all  the  kindness  and  care  due  to  a 
wounded  soldier  and  an  officer  of  merit.  It  would 
annoy  me  greatly  if  I  thought  you  were  not  treated  like 
a  brother  in  my  house." 

Colonel  Dujardin  writhed  inwardly  at  this  view  of 
matters.  He  could  not  reply  in  few  words.  This  made 
him  hesitate. 


346  WHITE  LIES. 

His  inquisitor  waited,  but,  receiving  no  reply,  went 
on,  "Well,  colonel,  have  you  shown  the  sense  of  grati- 
tude we  had  a  right  to  look  for  in  return  ?  In  a  word, 
when  you  left  Beaurepaire,  had  your  conscience  nothing 
to  reproach  you  with  ?  " 

Dujardin  still  hesitated.  He  scarcely  knew  what  to 
think  or  what  to  say.  But  he  thought  to  himself, 
"  Who  has  told  him  ?  does  he  know  all  ?  " 

"Colonel  Dujardin,  I  am  the  husband  of  Josephine, 
the  son  of  Madame  de  Beaurepaire,  and  the  brother  of 
Rose.  You  know  very  well  what  brings  me  here.  Your 
answer  ?  " 

"Colonel  Raynal,  between  men  of  honor,  placed  as 
you  and  I  are,  few  words  should  pass,  for  words  are  idle. 
You  will  never  prove  to  me  that  I  have  wronged  you  :  I 
shall  never  convince  you  that  I  have  not.  Let  us  there- 
fore close  this  painful  interview  in  the  way  it  is  sure  to 
close.  I  am  at  your  service,  at  any  hour  and  place  you 
please." 

"  And  pray  is  that  all  the  answer  you  can  think  of  ?  " 
asked  Raynal  somewhat  scornfully. 

"  Why,  what  other  answer  can  I  give  you  ?  " 

"  A  more  sensible,  a  more  honest,  and  a  less  boyish 

,  one.     Who  doubts  that  you  can  fight,  you  silly  fellow  ? 

haven't  I  seen  you  ?     I  want  you  to  show  me  a  much 

higher  sort  of  courage  :  the  courage  to  repair  a  wrong, 

not  the  paltry  valor  to  defend  one." 

"  I  really  do  not  understand  you,  sir.  How  can  I  undo 
what  is  done  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  you  cannot.  And  therefore  I  stand 
here  ready  to  forgive  all  that  is  past ;  not  without  a 
struggle,  which  you  don't  seem  to  appreciate." 

Camille  was  now  utterly  mystified.  Raynal  continued, 
"  But  of  course  it  is  upon  condition  that  you  consent  to 
heal  the  wound  you  have  made.  If  you  refuse  —  hum  J 
but  you  will  not  refuse." 


WHITE  LIES.  347 

"  But  what  is  it  you  require  of  me  ?  "  inquired  Camille 
impatiently. 

"Only  a  little  common  honesty.  This  is  the  case: 
you  have  seduced  a  young  lady." 

''  Sir  ! "  cried  Camille  angrily. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  The  word  is  not  so  bad  as  the 
crime,  I  take  it.  You  have  seduced  her,  and  under  cir- 
cumstances —  But  we  won't  speak  of  them,  because  I 
am  resolved  to  keep  cool.  Well,  sir,  as  you  said  just 
now,  it's  no  use  crying  over  spilled  milk ;  you  can't 
unseduce  the  little  fool ;  so  you  must  marry  her." 

"  M — m — marry  her  ?  "  and  Dujardin  flushed  all 
over,  and  his  heart  beat,  and  he  stared  in  Raynal's 
face. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter  again  ?  If  she  has  played 
the  fool,  it  was  with  you,  and  no  other  man :  it  is  not  as 
if  she  was  depraved.  Come,  my  lad,  show  a  little 
generosity  !  Take  the  consequences  of  your  own  act  — 
or  your  share  of  it  —  don't  throw  it  all  on  the  poor  feeble 
woman.  If  she  has  loved  you  too  much,  you  are  the 
man  of  all  others  that  should  forgive  her.  Come,  what 
do  you  say  ?  " 

This  was  too  much  for  Camille ;  that  Raynal  should 
come  and  demand  of  him  to  marry  his  own  wife,  for  so 
he  understood  the  proposal.  He  stared  at  Raynal  in 
silence  ever  so  long,  and  even  when  he  spoke  it  was  only 
to  mutter,  "Are  you  out  of  your  senses,  or  am  I  ?" 

At  this  it  cost  Raynal  a  considerable  effort  to  restrain 
his  wrath.  However,  he  showed  himself  worthy  of  the 
office  he  had  undertaken.  He  contained  himself,  and 
submitted  to  argue  the  matter.  "Why,  colonel,"  said 
he,  "  is  it  such  a  misfortune  to  marry  poor  Rose  ?  She 
is  young,  she  is  lovely,  she  has  many  good  qualities,  and 
she  would  have  walked  straight  to  the  eud  of  her  days 
but  for  you." 


348  WHITE    LIES. 

Now  here  was  another  surprise  for  Dujardin,  another 
mystification. 

"  Rose  de  Beaurepaire  ?  "  said  he,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  head,  as  if  to  see  whether  his  reason  was  still  there. 

"  Yes,  Rose  de  Beaurepaire  —  Rose  Dujardin  that 
ought  to  be,  and  that  is  to  be,  if  you  please." 

"  One  word,  monsieur :  is  it  of  Rose  we  have  been 
talking  all  this  time  ?  " 

Raynal  nearly  lost  his  temper  at  this  question,  and 
the  cold,  contemptuous  tone  with  which  it  was  put ;  but 
he  gulped  down  his  ire. 

"  It  is,"  said  he. 

"  One  question  more.  Did  she  tell  you  I  had  —  1 
had  "  — 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  she  was  in  no  condition  to  deny  she 
had  fallen,  poor  girl ;  the  evidence  was  too  strong.  She 
did  not  reveal  her  seducer's  name  ;  but  I  had  not  far  to 
go  for  that." 

"One  question  more,"  said  Dujardin,  with  a  face  of 
anguish.  "Is  it  Jos — is  it  Madame  Raynal's  wish  I 
should  marry  her  sister  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Raynal,  in  all  sincerity, 
assuming  that  naturally  enough  as  a  matter  of  course  ; 
"  if  you  have  any  respect  for  her  feelings,  look  on  me  as 
her  envoy  in  this  matter." 

At  this  Camille  turned  sick  with  disgust ;  then  rage 
and  bitterness  swelled  his  heart.  A  furious  impulse 
seized  him  to  expose  Josephine  on  the  spot.  He  over- 
came that,  however,  and  merely  said,  "She  wishes  me  to 
marry  her  sister,  does  she  ?  very  well  then,  I  decline." 

Raynal  was  shocked.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  sorrowfully,  "  I 
cannot  believe  this  of  you ;  such  heartlessness  as  this  is 
not  written  in  your  face  ;  it  is  contradicted  by  your  past 
actions." 

"I  refuse,"  said  Dujardin,  hastily;  and  to  tell  the 


WHITE   LIES.  349 

truth,  not  sorry  to  inflict  some  pain  on  the  honest  soldier 
who  bad  unintentionally  driven  the  iron  so  deep  into  his 
own  soul. 

"  And  I,"  said  Raynal,  losing  his  temper,  "  insist,  in 
the  name  of  my  dear  Josephine  "  — 

"Perdition!"  snarled  Dujardin,  losing  his  self-com- 
mand in  turn. 

"  And  of  the  whole  family." 

"  And  I  tell  you  I  will  never  marry  her.  Upon  my 
honor,  never." 

"  Your  honor !  you  have  none.  The  only  question  is 
would  you  rather  marry  her  —  or  die." 

"Die,  to  be  sure." 

"  Then  die  you  shall." 

"Ah  !"  said  Dujardin  ;  "did  I  not  tell  you  we  were 
wasting  time  ?  " 

"Let  us  waste  no  more  then.      When  and  where  ?" 

"  At  the  rear  of  the  commander-in-chief's  tent;  when 
you  like." 

"  This  afternoon,  then  —  at  five." 

«  At  five." 

"  Seconds  ? " 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  You  are  right.  They  are  only  in  the  way  of  men 
who  carry  sabres;  and  besides  the  less  gossip  the  better. 
Good-by,  till  five,"  and  the  two  saluted  one  another  with 
grim  ceremony;  and  Raynal  turned  on  his  heel. 

Camille  stood  transfixed  ;  a  fierce,  guilty  joy  throbbed 
in  his  heart.  His  rival  had  quarrelled  with  him,  had 
insulted  him,  had  challenged  him.  It  was  not  his  fault. 
The  sun  shone  bright  now  upon  his  cold  despair.  An 
hour  ago  life  offered  nothing.  A  few  hours  more,  and 
then  joy  beyond  expression,  or  an  end  of  all.  Death 
or  Josephine  !  Then  he  remembered  that  this  very 
Josephine    wished   to   marry  him   to   liose.      Then   he 


350  WHITE   LIES. 

remembered  Raynal  had  saved  his  life.  Cold  chills 
crossed  his  breaking  heart.  Of  all  that  could  happen  to 
him  death  alone  seemed  a  blessing  without  alloy. 

He  stood  there  so  torn  with  conflicting  passions,  that 
he  noted  neither  the  passing  hours  nor  the  flying  bullets. 

He  was  only  awakened  from  his  miserable  trance  by 
the  even  tread  of  soldiers  marching  towards  him  ;  he 
looked  up  and  there  were  several  officers  coming  along 
the  edge  of  the  trench,  escorted  by  a  corporal's  guard. 

He  took  a  step  or  two  to  meet  them.  After  the  usual 
salutes,  one  of  the  three  colonels  delivered  a  large  paper, 
with  a  large  seal,  to  Dujardin.  He  read  it  out  to  his 
captains  and  lieutenants,  who  had  assembled  at  sight  of 
the  cocked  hats  and  full  uniforms. 

"  Attack  by  the  ai-my  to-morrow  upon  all  the  lines.  Attack 
of  the  bastion  St.  Andre  this  evening.  The  22d,  the  24th,  and 
12th  brigades  will  furnish  the  contingents  ;  the  operation  will 
be  conducted  by  one  of  the  colonels  of  the  second  division,  to 
1,6  appointed  by  General  Raimbaut." 

"  Aha ! "  sounded  a  voice  like  a  trombone  at  the 
reader's  elbow.  "  I  am  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  When, 
colonel,  when  ?  " 

"  At  five  this  evening.  Colonel  Raynal." 

"  There,"  said  Raynal,  in  a  half-whisper,  to  Dujardin ; 
"  could  they  choose  no  hour  but  that  ?  " 

"Do  not  be  uneasy,"  replied  Dujardin,  under  his 
breath.  He  explained  aloud  —  "  the  assault  wall  not 
take  place,  gentlemen  ;   the  bastion  is  mined." 

"  What  of  that  ?  half  of  them  are  mined.  We  will 
take  our  engineers  in  with  us,"  said  Raynal. 

"  Such  an  assault  will  be  a  useless  massacre," 
resumed  Dujardin.  "I  reconnoitred  the  bastion  last 
night,  and  saw  their  preparations  for  blowing  us  to  the 
devil ;  and  General  Raimbaut,  at  my  request,  is  even 


WHITE   LIES.  351 

now  presenting  my  remarks  to  the  commander-in-chief, 
and  enforcing  tlieni.  There  will  be  no  assault.  In  a 
day  or  two  we  shall  blow  the  bastion,  mines,  and  all  into 
the  air." 

At  this  moment  Raynal  caught  sight  of  a  gray-haired 
officer  coming  at  some  distance.  "  There  is  General 
Raimbaut,"  said  he.  "  I  will  go  and  pay  my  respects  to 
him."  General  Raimbaut  shook  his  hand  warmly,  and 
welcomed  him  to  the  army.  They  were  old  and  warm 
friends.  "  And  you  are  come  at  the  right  time,"  said  he. 
"  It  will  soon  be  as  hot  here  as  in  Egypt." 

Raynal  laughed  and  said  all  the  better. 

General  Raimbaut  now  joined  the  group  of  officers, 
and  entered  at  once  in  the  business  which  had  brought 
him.  Addressing  himself  to  Colonel  Dujardin,  first  he 
informs  that  officer  he  had  presented  his  observations  to 
the  commander-in-chief,  who  had  given  them  the  atten- 
tion they  merited. 

Colonel  Dujardin  bowed. 

"But,"  continued  General  Raimbaut,  "they  are  over- 
ruled by  imperious  circumstances,  some  of  which  he  did 
not  reveal ;  they  remain  in  his  own  breast.  However,  on 
the  eve  of  a  general  attack,  which  he  cannot  postpone, 
that  bastion  must  be  disarmed,  otherwise  it  would  be  too 
fatal  to  all  the  storming  parties.  It  is  a  painful  neces- 
sity." He  added,  "Tell  Colonel  Dujardin  I  count  greatly 
on  the  courage  and  discipline  of  his  brigade,  and  on  his 
own  wise  measures." 

Colonel  Dujardin  bowed.  Then  he  whispered  in  the 
other's  ear,  "  Both  will  alike  be  wasted." 

The  other  colonels  waved  their  hats  in  triumph  at  the 
commander-in-chief's  decision,  and  Raynars  face  showed 
he  looked  on  Dujardin  as  a  sort  of  spoil-sport  happily 
defeated. 

"Well,  then,  gentlemen,"  said  General  Raimbaut,  "w& 


352  WHITE   LIES. 

begin  by  settling  the  contingents  to  be  furnished  by  your 
several  brigades.  Say,  an  equal  number  from  each.  The 
sum  total  shall  be  settled  by  Colonel  Dujardin,  who  has 
so  long  and  ably  baffled  the  bastion  at  this  post." 

Colonel  Dujardin  bowed  stiffly  and  not  very  graciously. 
In  his  heart  he  despised  these  old  fogies,  compounds  of 
timidity  and  rashness. 

"  So,  how  many  men  in  all,  colonel  ?  "  asked  General 
Raimbaut. 

"The  fewer  the  better,"  replied  the  other  solemnly, 
"  since  "  —  and  then  discipline  tied  his  tongue. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Shall  we  say 
eight  hundred  men  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  three  hundred.  They  have  made  a 
back  door  to  the  bastion,  and  the  means  of  flight  at  hand 
will  put  flight  into  their  heads.  They  will  pick  off  some 
of  our  men  as  we  go  at  them.  When  the  rest  jump  in 
they  will  jump  out,  and" —     He  paused. 

"  Why,  he  knows  all  about  it  before  it  comes,"  said  one 
of  the  colonels  naively. 

"  I  do.  I  see  the  whole  operation  and  its  result  be- 
fore me,  as  I  see  this  -hand.  Three  hundred  men  will 
do." 

"But,  general,"  objected  Raynal,  "you  are  not  begin- 
ning at  the  beginning.  The  first  thing  in  these  cases  is 
to  choose  the  officer  to  command  the  storming  party." 

"  Yes,  Raynal,  unquestionably ;  but  you  must  be  aware 
that  is  a  painful  and  embarrassing  part  of  my  duty,  espe- 
cially after  Colonel  Dujardin's  remarks." 

"Ah,  bah!"  cried  Raynal.  "He  is  prejudiced.  He 
has  been  digging  a  thundering  long  mine  here,  and  now 
you  are  going  to  make  his  child  useless.  We  none  of  us 
like  that.  But  when  he  gets  the  colors  in  his  hand,  and 
the  storming  column  at  his  back,  his  misgivings  will  all 
go  to  the  wind,  and  the  enemy  after  them,  tinless  he  has 


WHAT    HE    WROTE    RAN    THUS,  


WHITE   LIES.  353 

been  committing  some  crime,  and  is  very  vutch  changed 
from  ivhat  I  knew  him  four  years  ago.'''' 

"  Colonel  Raynal,"  said  one  of  the  other  colonels, 
politely  but  firmly,  '"'pray  do  not  assume  that  Colonel 
Dujardin  is  to  lead  the  column ;  there  are  three  other 
claimants.     General  Raimbaut  is  to  select  from  us  four." 

•'  Yes,  gentlemen,  and  in  a  service  of  this  kind  I  would 
feel  grateful  to  you  all  if  you  would  relieve  me  of  that 
painful  duty." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Dujardin,  with  an  imperceptible 
sneer,  "the  general  means  to  say  this:  the  operation  is 
so  glorious  that  he  could  hardly  without  partiality  assign 
the  command  to  either  of  us  four  claimants.  "Well,  then, 
let  us  cast  lots." 

The  proposal  was  received  by  acclamation. 

"  The  general  will  mark  a  black  cross  on  one  lot,  and 
he  who  draws  it  wins  the  command." 

The  young  colonels  prepared  their  lots  with  almost 
boyish  eagerness.  These  fiery  spirits  were  sick  to  death 
of  lying  and  skulking  in  the  trenches.  They  flung  their 
lots  into  the  hat.  After  them,  who  should  approach  the 
hat,  lot  in  hand,  but  Raynal.  Dujardin  instantly  inter- 
fered, and  held  his  arm  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  dropping 
in  his  lot. 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Raynal,  sharply. 

"This  is  our  affair,  Colonel  Raynal.  You  have  no 
command  in  this  army." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I  have  yours." 

"  Not  till  to-morrow." 

"Why,  you  would  not  take  such  a  pettifogging  advan- 
tage of  an  old  comrade  as  that." 

"Tell  him  the  day  ends  at  twelve  o'clock,"  said  one  of 
the  colonels  interested  by  this  strange  strife. 

"Ah!"  cried  Raynal,  triumphantly;  "but  no,"  said 
he,  altering  his  tone,  "  let  us  leave  that  sort  of  argument 


354  WHITE    LIES. 

to  lawyers.  I  have  come  a  good  many  miles  to  fight  with 
you,  general ;  and  now  you  must  decide  to  pay  me  this 
little  compliment  on  my  arrival,  or  put  a  bitter  affront 
on  me  —  choose  !  " 

While  the  old  general  hesitated,  Camille  replied,  "Since 
you  take  that  tone  there  can  be  but  one  answer.  You 
are  too  great  a  credit  to  the  French  army  for  even  an 
apparent  slight  to  be  put  on  you  here.  The  rule,  I  think, 
is,  that  one  of  the  privates  shall  hold  the  hat.  —  Hallo! 
Private  Dard,  come  here  —  there  —  hold  this  hat." 

"  Yes,  colonel.  —  Lord,  here  is  my  young  mistress's 
husband ! " 

"  Silence  ! " 

And  they  began  to  draw,  and,  in  the  act  of  drawing,  a 
change  of  manner  was  first  visible  in  these  gay  and 
ardent  spirits. 

"  It  is  not  I,"  said  one,  throwing  away  his  lot. 

"Nor  I." 

"  It  is  I,"  said  Raynal ;  then  with  sudden  gravity,  "  I 
am  the  lucky  one." 

And  now  that  the  honor  and  the  danger  no  longer 
floated  vaguely  over  four  heads,  but  had  fixed  on  one,  a 
sudden  silence  and  solemnity  took  the  place  of  eager 
voices. 

It  was  first  broken  by  Private  Dard  saying,  with  foolish 
triumph,  "And  I  held  the  hat  for  you,  colonel." 

"  Ah,  Eaynal ! "  said  General  Eaimbaut,  sorrowfully, 
"  it  was  not  worth  while  to  come  from  Egypt  for  this." 

Raynal  made  no  reply  to  this.  He  drew  out  his  watch, 
and  said  calmly,  he  had  no  time  to  lose ;  he  must  inspect 
the  detachments  he  was  to  command.  "Besides,"  said 
he, "  I  have  some  domestic  arrangements  to  make.  Hither- 
to on  these  occasions  I  was  a  bachelor,  now  I  am  married." 
General  Raimbaut  could  not  help  sighing.  Raynal  read 
this  aright,  and  turned  to  him,  "A  droll  marriage,  my 


WHITE   LIES.  355 

old  friend ;  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  if  ever  I  have  the 
time.  It  began  with  a  purchase,  general,  and  ends  with 
— with  a  bequest,  which  I  might  as  well  write  now,  and 
so  have  nothing  to  think  of  but  duty  afterwards.  Where 
can  I  write  ?  " 

"Colonel  Dujardin  will  lend  you  his  tent,  I  am  sure." 

"Certainly." 

"And,  messieurs,"  said  Raynal,  "if  I  waste  time  you 
need  not.  You  can  pick  me  my  men  from  your  brigades. 
Give  me  a  strong  spice  of  old  hands." 

The  colonels  withdrew  on  this,  and  General  Raimbaut 
walked  sadly  and  thoughtfully  towards  the  battery. 
Dujardin  and  Raynal  were  left  alone. 

"This  postpones  our  affair,  sir." 

"  Yes,  Raynal." 

"  Have  you  writing  materials  in  your  tent  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  on  the  table." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  the  bastion  is  mined,  comrade  ?  " 

This  unexpected  Avord  and  Raynal's  gentle  appeal 
touched  Dujardin  deeply.  It  was  in  a  broken  voice  he 
replied  that  he  was  unfortunately  too  sure  of  it. 

Raynal  received  this  reply  as  a-sentence  of  death,  and 
without  another  word  walked  slowl}'  into  Dujardin's  tent. 

Dujardin's  generosity  was  n\)  in  arms;  he  followed 
Raynal,  and  said  eagerly,  "Raynal,  for  Heaven's  sake 
resign  this  command  !  " 

"Allow  me  to  write  to  my  wife,  colonel,"  was  the  cold 
reply. 

Camille  winced  at  this  affront,  and  drew  back  a  moment ; 
but  his  nobler  part  prevailed.  He  seized  Raynal  by  the 
wrist.  "You  shall  not  affront  me,  you  cannot  aft'ront  me. 
You  go  to  certain  death  I  tell  you,  if  you  attack  tliat 
bastion." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  colonel,"  said  Raynal:  "somebody 
must  lead  the  men." 


356  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  you.  Who  has  so  good  a  right  to  lead 
them  as  I,  their  colonel  ?  " 

"  And  be  killed  in  my  place,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  ground  better  than  you,"  said  Camille. 
"  Besides,  who  cares  for  me  ?  I  have  no  friends,  no 
family.  But  you  are  married  —  and  so  many  will  mourn 
if  you  "  — 

Raynal  interrupted  him  sternly.  "  You  forget,  sir, 
that  Rose  de  Beaurepaire  is  my  sister,  when  you  tell  me 
you  have  no  tie  to  life."  He  added,  with  wonderful 
dignity  and  sobriety,  "  Allow  me  to  write  to  my  wife, 
sir ;  and,  while  I  write,  reflect  that  you  can  embitter  an 
old  comrade's  last  moments  by  persisting  in  your  refusal 
to  restore  his  sister  the  honor  you  have  robbed  her  of." 

And  leaving  the  other  staggered  and  confused  by  this 
sudden  blow,  he  retired  into  Dujardin's  tent,  and  finding 
writing  materials  on  a  little  table  that  was  there,  sat 
down  to  pen  a  line  to  Josephine. 

Camille  knew  to  whom  he  was  writing,  and  a  jealous 
pang  passed  through  him. 

What  he  wrote  ran  thus,  — 

"  A  bastion  is  to  be  attacked  at  five.  I  command.  Colonel 
Dujardin  proposed  we  should  draw  lots,  and  I  lost.  The  ser- 
vice is  honorable,  but  the  result  may,  I  fear,  give  you  some 
pain.  My  dear  wife.  It  is  our  fate.  I  was  not  to  have  time  to 
make  you  know,  and  perhaps  love  me.     God  bless  you." 

In  writing  these  simple  words,  Raynal's  hard  face 
worked,  and  his  mustache  quivered,  and  once  he  had  to 
clear  his  eye  with  his  hand  to  form  the  letters.  He,  the 
man  of  iron. 

He  who  stood  there,  leaning  on  his  scabbard  and 
watching  the  writer,  saw  this,  and  it  stirred  all  that  was 
great  and  good  in  that  grand  though  passionate  heart  of 
his. 


I 


WHITE   LIES.  357 

"Poor  Raynal!"  thought  he,  "j'ou  were  never  like 
that  before  on  going  into  action.  He  is  loath  to  die. 
Ay,  and  it  is  a  coward's  trick  to  let  him  die.  I  shall 
have  her  .  but  shall  I  have  her  esteem  ?  What  will  the 
army  say  ?  What  will  my  conscience  say  ?  Oh  !  I  feel 
already  it  will  gnaw  my  heart  to  death  ;  the  ghost  of 
that  brave  fellow  —  once  my  dear  friend,  my  rival  now, 
by  no  fault  of  his  —  will  rise  between  her  and  me,  and 
reproach  me  with  my  bloody  inheritance.  The  heart 
never  deceives;  I  feel  it  now  whispering  in  my  ear: 
*  Skulking  captain,  white-livered  soldier,  that  stand  be- 
hind a  parapet  while  a  better  man  does  your  work  !  you 
assassinate  the  husband,  but  the  rival  conquers  you.' 
There,  he  puts  his  hand  to  his  eyes.     What  shall  I  do?  " 

"Colonel,"  said  a  low  voice,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

It  was  General  Raimbaut.  The  general  looked  pale 
and  distressed. 

"  Come  apart,  colonel,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  One  word, 
while  he  is  writing.  Ah !  that  was  an  unlucky  idea  of 
yours." 

"  Of  mine,  general  ?  " 

"  'Twas  you  proposed  to  cast  lots." 

"  Good  God  !  so  it  was." 

"I  thought  of  course  it  was  to  be  managed  so  that 
Raynal  should  not  be  the  one.  Between  ourselves,  what 
honorable  excuse  can  we  make  ?  " 

"  None,  general." 

"The  whole  division  will  be  disgraced,  and  forgive  me 
if  I  say  a  portion  of  the  discredit  will  fall  on  you." 

"Help  me  to  avert  that  shame  then,"  cried  Camille, 
eagerly. 

"  Ah  !  that  I  will :  but  how  ?  " 

"  Take  your  pencil  and  write  — '  I  authorize  Colonel 
Dujardin  to  save  the  honor  of  the  colonels  of  the  second 
division.' " 


358  WHITE   LIES. 

The  general  hesitated.  He  had  never  seen  an  order 
so  worded.  But  at  last  he  took  out  his  pencil  and  wrote 
the  required  order,  after  his  own  fashion ;  i.e.,  in  milk 
and  water:  — 

On  account  of  the  singular  ability  and  courage  with  which 
Colonel  Dujardin  has  conducted  the  operations  against  the 
Bastion  St.  Andre,  a  discretionary  power  is  given  him  at  the 
moment  of  assault  to  carry  into  effect  such  measures,  as,  with- 
out interfering  with  the  commander-in-chiefs  order,  may  sus- 
tain his  own  credit,  and  that  of  the  other  colonels  of  the  second 
division. 

Raimbaut,  General  of  Division. 

Camille  put  the  paper  into  his  bosom. 

"  Now,  general,  you  may  leave  all  to  me.  T  swear  to 
you,  Raynal  shall  not  die — shall  not  lead  this  assault." 

"  Your  hand,  colonel.  You  are  an  honor  to  the  French 
armies.     How  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  general,  it  shall  be  done." 

"  I  feel  it  will,  my  noble  fellow :  but,  alas  !  I  fear  not 
without  risking  some  valuable  life  or  other,  most  likely 
your  own.     Tell  me  ! " 

"General,  I  decline." 

"  You  refuse  me,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes;  this  order  gives  me  a  discretionary  power.  I 
will  hand  back  the  order  at  your  command ;  but  modify 
it  I  will  not.  Come,  sir,  you  veteran  generals  have  been 
unjust  to  me,  and  listened  to  me  too  little  all  through 
this  siege,  but  at  last  you  have  honored  me.  This  order 
is  the  greatest  honor  that  was  ever  done  me  since  I  wore 
a  sword.". 

"  My  poor  colonel ! " 

"Let  me  wear  it  intact,  and  carry  it  to  my  grave." 

"  Say  no  more  !  One  word  —  Is  there  anything  on 
earth  I  can  do  for  you,  my  brave  soldier  ?  " 


■WHITE  lies:  359 

"  Yes,  general.  Be  so  kind  as  to  retire  to  your  quar- 
ters; there  are  reasons  why  you  ought  not  to  be  near 
this  post  in  half  an  hour." 

"  1  go.     Is  there  nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Well,  general,  ask  the  good  priest  Ambrose,  to  pray 
for  all  those  who  shall  die  doing  their  duty  to  their 
country  this  afternoon." 

They  parted.  General  Kaimbaut  looked  back  more 
than  once  at  the  firm,  intrepid  figure  that  stood  there 
unflinching,  on  the  edge  of  the  grave.  But  he  never  took 
his  eye  off  Raynal,  The  next  minute  the  sad  letter  was 
finished,  and  Raynal  walked  out  of  the  tent,  and  con- 
fronted the  man  he  had  challenged  to  single  combat. 

I  have  mentioned  elsewhere  that  Colonel  Dujardin 
had  eyes  strangely  compounded  of  battle  and  love,  of 
the  dove  and  the  hawk.  And  these,  softened  by  a  noble 
act  he  meditated,  now  rested  on  Raynal  with  a  strange 
expression  of  warmth  and  goodness.  This  strange  gaze 
struck  Raynal,  so  far  at  least  as  this ;  he  saw  it  was  no 
hostile  eye.  He  was  glad  of  that,  for  his  own  heart  was 
calmed  and  softened  by  the  solemn  prospect  before  him. 

"  We,  too,  have  a  little  account  to  settle  before  I  order 
out  the  men,"  said  he,  calmly,  "and  1  can't  give  you  a 
long  credit.     I  am  pressed  for  time." 

"Our  quarrel  is  at  an  end.  When  duty  sounds  the 
recall,  a  soldier's  heart  leaves  private  feuds.  See !  I 
come  to  you  without  anger  and  ill-will.  Just  now  my 
voice  was  loud,  my  manner,  I  dare  say,  offensive,  and 
menacing  even,  and  that  always  tempts  a  brave  fellow 
like  you  to  resist.  But  now,  you  see,  1  am  harmless  as 
a  woman.  We  are  alone.  Humbug  to  the  winds  !  I 
know  that  you  are  the  only  man  in  this  army  fit  to  com- 
mand a  division.  I  know  that  when  you  say  the  assault 
of  that  bastion  is  death,  death  it  is.  To  the  point  then ; 
now  that  my  manner  is  no  longer  irritating,  now  that  I 


360  WHITE  LIES. 

am  going  to  die,  Camille  Dujardin,  my  old  comrade,  have 
you  the  heart  to  refuse  me  ?  am  1  to  die  unhappy  ?  " 

"No;  no:  I  will  do  whatever  you  like." 

"  You  will  marry  that  poor  girl,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Aha !  did  not  I  always  say  he  was  a  good  fellow  ? 
Clench  the  nail ;  give  me  your  honor." 

"  I  give  you  my  honor  to  marry  her,  if  I  live." 

"  You  take  a  load  off  me ;  may  Heaven  reward  you. 
In  one  hour  those  poor  women,  whose  support  I  had 
promised  to  be,  will  lose  their  protector ;  but  I  give  them 
another  in  you.  We  shall  not  leave  that  family  in  tears, 
Rose  in  shame,  and  your  child  without  a  name." 

Dujardin  stared  at  the  speaker.  What  new  and  devil- 
ish deception  was  this  ? 

"  My  child ! "  he  faltered.     "  What  child  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Raynal,  "  what  a  fool  I  was  !  That  is  the 
first  thing  I  ought  to  have  told  you.  Poor  little  fellow  ! 
I  surprised  him  in  his  cradle ;  his  mother  and  Josephine 
were  rocking  him,  and  singing  over  him.  Oh !  it  was  a 
scene,  I  can  tell  you.  My  poor  wife  had  been  ill  for 
some  time,  and  was  so  weakened  by  it,  that  I  frightened 
her  into  a  fit,  stealing  a  march  on  her  that  way.  She 
fainted  away.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  she  did  ;  for  I  —  I 
did  not  know  what  to  tliink  ;  it  looked  ugly ;  but  while 
she  lay  at  our  feet  insensible,  I  forced  the  truth  from 
Rose  ;  she  owned  the  boy  was  hers." 

While  Raynal  told  him  this  strange  story,  Camille 
turned  hot  and  cold.  First  came  a  thrill  of  glowing  joy  ; 
he  had  some  clew  to  all  this :  he  was  a  father;  that  child 
was  Josephine's  and  his ;  the  next  moment  he  froze 
Avithin.  So  Josephine  had  not  only  gulled  her  husband, 
but  him,  too ;  she  had  refused  him  the  sad  consolation 
of  knowing  he  had  a  child.  Cruelty,  calculation,  and 
baseness  unexampled !     Here  was  a  creature  who  could 


1 


WHITE   LIES.  361 

sacrifice  anything  and  anybody  to  her  comfort,  to  the 
peace  and  sordid  smoothness  of  lier  domestic  life.  She 
stood  between  two  men  —  a  thing.  Between  two  truths 
—  a  double  lie. 

His  heart,  in  one  moment,  turned  against  her  like  a 
stone.  A  musket-bullet  through  the  body  does  not  turn 
life  to  death  quicker  than  Raynal  turned  his  rival's  love 
to  despair  and  scorn :  that  love  which  neither  wounds, 
absence,  prison,  nor  even  her  want  of  constancy  had  pre- 
vailed to  shake. 

"  Out  of  my  bosom  ! "  he  cried  —  "  out  of  it,  in  this 
world  and  the  next !  " 

He  forgot,  in  his  lofty  rage,  who  stood  beside  him. 

"  What  ?  —  what  ?  "  cried  Raynal. 

"  No  matter,"  said  Camille ;  "  only  I  esteem  yoii^ 
Raynal.  You  are  truth ;  you  are  a  man,  and  deserve  a 
better  lot." 

"Don't  say  that,"  replied  Raynal,  quite  misunder- 
standing him.  "  It  is  a  soldier's  end :  I  never  desired 
nor  hoped  a  better :  only,  of  course,  I  feel  sad.  You  are 
a  happy  fellow,  to  have  a  child  and  to  live  to  see  it,  and 
her  you  love." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  happy,"  replied  the  poor  fellow, 
his  lip  quivering. 

"  Watch  over  all  those  poor  women,  comrade,  and 
sometimes  speak  to  them  of  me.  It  is  foolish,  but  we 
like  to  be  remembered." 

*'  Yes  !  but  do  not  let  us  speak  of  that.  Raynal,  you 
and  I  were  lieutenants  together;  do  you  remember 
saving  my  life  in  the  Arno  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  promise  me,  if  you  should  live,  to  remember 
not  our  quarrel  of  to-day,  nor  anything;  but  only  those 
early  days,  and  this  afternoon.^' 

"  I  do." 


362  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Your  hand,  comrade." 

*'  There,  comrade,  there." 

They  wrung  one  another's  hands,  and  turned  away 
and  hid  their  faces  from  each  other,  for  their  eyes  were 
moist. 

"This  won't  do,  comrade,  I  must  go.  I  shall  attack 
from  your  position.  So  I  shall  go  down  the  line,  and 
bring  the  men  up.  Meantime,  pick  me  your  detachment. 
Give  me  a  good  spice  of  veterans.  I  shall  get  one  word 
with  you  before  we  go  out.     God  bless  you  ! " 

"  God  bless  you,  Raynal ! " 

The  moment  Raynal  was  gone,  Camille  beckoned  a 
lieutenant  to  him,  and  ordered  half  the  brigade  to  form 
in  a  strong  column  on  both  sides  Death's  Alley. 

His  eye  fell  upon  private  Dard,  as  luck  would  have  it. 
"Come  here,"  said  he.     Dard  came  and  saluted. 

"  Have  you  anybody  at  Beaurepaire  that  would  be 
sorry  if  you  were  killed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  colonel !  Jacintha,  that  used  to  make  your 
broth,  colonel." 

"Take  this  line  to  Colonel  Eaynal.  You  Avill  find 
him  with  the  12th  brigade." 

He  wrote  a  few  lines  in  pencil,  folded  them,  and  Dard 
went  off  with  them,  little  dreaming  that  the  colonel  of 
his  brigade  was  taking  the  trouble  to  save  his  life, 
because  he  came  from  Beaurepaire.  Colonel  Dujardin 
then  went  into  his  tent,  and  closed  the  aperture,  and 
took  the  good  book  the  priest  had  given  him,  and  prayed 
humbly,  and  forgave  all  the  world. 

Then  he  sat  down,  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  thought 
of  his  child,  and  how  hard  it  was  he  must  die  and  never 
see  him.  Then  he  lighted  a  candle,  and  sealed  up  his 
orders  of  valor,  and  wrote  a  line,  begging  that  they 
might  be  sent  to  his  sister.  He  also  sealed  up  his 
purse,  and  left  a  memorandum  that  the  contents  should 


WHITE   LIES.  363 

be  given  to  disabled  soldiers  of  his  brigade  upon  their 
being  invalided. 

Then  he  took  out  Josephine's  letter.  "Poor  coward," 
he  said,  "let  me  not  be  unkind.  See,  I  burn  your  letter, 
lest  it  should  be  found,  and  disturb  the  peace  you  prize 
so  highly.  I,  too,  shall  soon  be  at  peace."  He  lighted 
the  letter,  and  dropped  it  on  the  ground :  it  burned 
slowly  away.  He  eyed  it,  despairingly.  "  Ay,"  said  he, 
"  you  perish,  last  record  of  an  unhappy  love :  and  even 
so  pass  away  my  life  ;  my  hopes  of  glory,  and  my  dreams 
of  love ;  it  all  ends  to-day  :  at  nine  and  twenty." 

He  put  his  white  handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  Josephine 
had  given  it  him.     He  cried  a  little. 

When  he  had  done  crying,  he  put  his  white  handker- 
chief in  his  bosom,  and  the  whole  man  was  transformed 
beyond  language  to  express.  Powder  does  not  change 
more  when  it  catches  fire.  He  rose  that  moment  and 
went  like  a  flash  of  lightning  out  of  the  tent.  The  next, 
he  came  down  between  the  lines  of  the  strong  column 
that  stood  awaiting  orders  in  Death's  Alley. 

"  Attention  !  "  cried  the  sergeants  ;  "  the  colonel !  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  for  the  bare  sight  of  that 
erect  and  inspired  figure  made  the  men's  bosoms  thrill 
with  the  certainty  of  great  deeds  to  come :  the  light  of 
battle  was  in  his  eye.  No  longer  the  moody  colonel, 
but  a  thunderbolt  of  war,  red-hot,  and  waiting  to  be 
launched. 

"  Officers,  sergeants,  soldiers,  a  word  with  you ! " 

La  Croix.     Attention  ! 

"Do  you  know  what  passed  here  five  minutes  ago?" 

"  The  attack  of  the  bastion  was  settled  !  "  cried  a 
captain. 

"  It  was ;  and  who  was  to  lead  the  assault  ?  do  you 
know  that  ?  " 

"No." 


364  WHITE   LIES. 

"  A  colonel  from  Egypt," 

At  that  there  was  a  groan  from  the  men. 

"With  detachments  from  the  other  brigades" 

"  Ah  ! "  an  angry  roar. 

Colonel  Dujardin  walked  quickly  down  between  the 
two  lines,  looking  with  his  fiery  eye  into  the  men's  eyes 
on  his  right.  Then  he  came  back  on  the  other  side,  and, 
as  he  went,  he  lighted  those  men's  eyes  with  his  own. 
It  was  a  torch  passing  along  a  line  of  ready  gas-lights. 

"The  work  to  us  !"  he  cried  in  a  voice  like  a  clarion 
(it  lired  the  hearts  as  his  eye  had  fired  the  eyes)  — 
"  The  triumph  to  strangers !  Our  fatigues  and  our 
losses  have  not  gained  the  brigade  the  honor  of  going 
out  at  those  fellows  that  have  killed  so  many  of  our 
comrades." 

A  fierce  groan  broke  from  the  men. 

"  What !  shall  the  colors  of  another  brigade  and  not 
ours  fly  from  that  bastion  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  No !  no  !  "  in  a  roar  like  thunder. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  of  my  mind.  Attention  !  the  attack  is 
fixed  for  five  o'clock.  Suppose  you  and  I  were  to  carry 
the  bastion  ten  minutes  before  the  colonel  from  Egypt 
can  bring  his  men  upon  the  ground." 

At  this  there  was  a  fierce  burst  of  joy  and  laughter ; 
the  strange  laughter  of  veterans  and  born  invincibles. 
Then  a  yell  of  exulting  assent,  accompanied  by  the 
thunder  of  impatient  drums,  and  the  rattle  of  fixing 
bayonets. 

The  colonel  told  off  a  party  to  the  battery. 

"  Level  the  guns  at  the  top  tier.  Fire  at  my  signal, 
and  keep  firing  over  our  heads,  till  you  see  our  colors  on 
the  place." 

He  then  darted  to  the  head  of  the  column,  which  in- 
stantly formed  behind  him  in  the  centre  of  Death's  Alley. 

"The  colors!  No  hand  but  mine  shall  hold  them 
to-day." 


WHITE   LIES.  365 

They  were  instantly  brought  him  :  his  left  hand  shook 
them  free  in  the  afternoon  sun. 

A  deep  murmur  of  joy  rolled  out  from  the  old  hands 
at  the  now  unwonted  sight.  Out  flashed  the  colonel's 
sword  like  steel  lightning.     He  pointed  to  the  battery. 

Bang !  bang  !  bang !  bang !  went  his  cannon,  and  the 
smoke  rolled  over  the  trenches.  At  the  same  moment 
up  went  the  colors  waving,  and  the  colonel's  clarion  voice 
pealed  high  above  all :  — 

"  Twenty -fourth  brigade  —  Forward  ! " 

They  went  so  swiftly  out  of  the  trenches  that  they 
were  not  seen  through  their  own  smoke  until  they  had 
run  some  sixty  yards.  As  soon  as  they  were  seen,  coming 
on  like  devils  through  their  own  smoke,  two  thousand 
muskets  were  levelled  at  them  from  the  Prussian  line. 
It  was  not  a  rattle  of  small  arms  —  it  was  a  crash,  and 
the  men  fell  fast :  but  in  a  moment  they  were  seen  to 
spread  out  like  a  fan,  and  to  offer  less  mark,  and  when 
the  fan  closed  again,  it  half  encircled  the  bastion.  It 
was  a  French  attack :  part  swarmed  at  it  in  front  like 
bees,  part  swept  round  the  glacis  and  flanked  it.  They 
were  seen  to  fall  in  numbers,  shot  down  from  the  embra- 
sures. But  the  living  took  the  place  of  the  dead :  and 
the  fight  ranged  evenly  there.  Where  are  the  colors  ? 
Towards  the  rear  there.  The  colonel  and  a  hundred  men 
are  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the  Prussians,  who  have 
charged  out  at  the  back  doors  of  the  bastion.  Success 
there,  and  the  bastion  must  fall  —  both  sides  know  this. 

The  colors  disappeared.  There  was  a  groan  from  the 
French  lines.  The  colors  reappeared,  and  close  under 
the  bastion. 

And  now  in  front  the  attack  was  so  hot,  that  often  the 
Prussian  gunners  were  seen  to  jump  down,  driven  from 
their  posts ;  and  the  next  moment  a  fierce  hurrah  from  the 
rear  told  that  the  French  had  won  some  great  advantage 


366  WHITE  LIES. 

there.  The  fire  slackening  told  a  similar  tale  and  pres- 
ently down  came  the  Prussian  Hag-staff.  That  might  be 
an  accident.  A  few  moments  of  thirsting  expectation, 
and  up  went  the  colors  of  the  24th  brigade  upon  the 
Bastion  St.  Andre. 

The  French  army  raised  a  shout  that  rent  the  sky,  and 
their  cannon  began  to  play  on  the  Prussian  lines  and 
between  the  bastion  and  the  nearest  fort,  to  prevent  a 
recapture. 

Sudden  there  shot  from  the  bastion  a  cubic  acre  of 
fire :  it  carried  up  a  heavy  mountain  of  red  and  black 
smoke  that  looked  solid  as  marble.  There  was  a  heavy, 
sullen,  tremendous  explosion  that  snuffed  out  the  sound 
of  the  cannon,  and  paralyzed  the  French  and  Prussian 
gunners'  hands,  and  checked  the  very  beating  of  their 
hearts.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  of  gunpowder  were  in 
that  awful  explosion.  War  itself  held  its  breath,  and 
both  armies,  like  peaceable  spectators,  gazed  wonder- 
struck,  terror-struck.  Great  hell  seemed  to  burst  through 
the  earth's  crust,  and  to  be  rushing  at  heaven.  Huge 
stones,  cannons,  corpses,  and  limbs  of  soldiers,  were  seen 
driven  or  falling  through  the  smoke.  Some  of  these  last 
came  quite  clear  of  the  ruins,  ay,  into  the  French  and 
Prussian  lines,  that  even  the  veterans  put  their  hands  to 
their  eyes.  Raynal  felt  something  patter  on  him  from 
the  sky  —  it  was  blood  —  a  comrade's  perhaps. 

The  smoke  cleared.  Where,  a  moment  before,  the 
great  bastion  stood  and  fought,  was  a  monstrous  pile  of 
blackened,  bloody  stones  and  timbers,  with  dismounted 
cannon  sticking  up  here  and  there. 

And,  rent  and  crushed  to  atoms  beneath  the  smoking 
mass,  lay  the  relics  of  the  gallant  brigade,  and  their 
victorious  colors. 


WHITE   LIES.  367 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

A  FEW  wounded  soldiers  of  the  brigade  lay  still  till 
dusk.  Then  they  crept  back  to  the  trenches.  These 
had  all  been  struck  down  or  disabled  short  of  the  bas- 
tion. Of  Jbhose  that  had  taken  the  place  no  one  came 
home. 

Raynal,  after  the  first  stupefaction,  pressed  hard  and 
even  angrily  for  an  immediate  assault  on  the  whole 
Prussian  line.  Xot  they.  It  was  on  paper  tliat  the 
assault  should  be  at  daybreak  to-morruw.  Such  leaders 
as  they  were  cannot  inqjrovise. 

Rage  and  grief  in  his  heart,  Raynal  waited  chafing  in 
the  trenches  till  five  minutes  past  midnight.  He  then 
became  commander  of  the  brigade,  gave  his  orders,  and 
took  thirty  men  out  to  creep  up  to  the  wreck  of  the  bas- 
tion, and  find  the  late  colonel's  body. 

Going  for  so  pious  a  purpose,  he  was  rewarded  by  an 
important  discovery.  The  whole  Prussian  lines  had  been 
abandoned  since  sunset,  and,  mounting  cautiously  on  the 
ramparts,  Raynal  saw  the  town  too  was  evacuated,  and 
lights  and  other  indications  on  a  rising  ground  behind  it 
convinced  him  that  the  Prussians  were  in  full  retreat, 
probably  to  effect  that  junction  with  other  forces  which 
the  assault  he  had  recommended  would  have  rendered 
impossible. 

They  now  lighted  lanterns,  and  searched  all  over  and 
round  the  bastion  for  the  poor  colonel.  In  tlie  roar  of 
the  bastion  they  found  many  French  soldiers,  most  of 
whom  had  died  by  the  bayonet.  The  Prussian  dead  had 
all  been  carried  olf. 


368  WHITE   LIES. 

Here  they  found  tlie  talkative  Sergeant  La  Croix. 
The  poor  fellow  was  silent  enough  now.  A  terrible  sabre- 
cut  on  the  skull.  The  colonel  was  not  there.  Raynal 
groaned,  and  led  the  way  on  to  the  bastion.  The  ruins 
still  smoked.  Seven  or  eight  bodies  were  discovered  by 
an  arm  or  afoot  protruding  through  the  masses  of  masonry. 
Of  these  some  were  Prussians  ;  a  proof  that  some  devoted 
hand  had  fired  the  train,  and  destroyed  both  friend  and 
foe. 

They  found  the  tube  of  Long  Tom  sticking  up,  just  as 
he  had  shown  over  the  battlements  that  glorious  day, 
with  this  exception,  that  a  great  piece  was  knocked  off 
his  lip,  and  the  slice  ended  in  a  long,  broad  crack. 

The  soldiers  looked  at  this.  "  That  is  our  bullet's 
work,"  said  they.  Then  one  old  veteran  touched  his  cap, 
and  told  Raynal  gravely,  he  knew  where  their  beloved 
colonel  was.  "  Dig  here,  to  the  bottom,"  said  he.  "  He 
lies  hejieath  his  tvork." 

Improbable  and  superstitious  as  this  was,  the  hearts 
of  the  soldiers  assented  to  it. 

Presently  there  was  a  joyful  cry  outside  the  bastion. 
A  rush  was  made  thither.  But  it  proved  to  be  only 
Dard,  who  had  discovered  that  Sergeant  La  Croix's  heart 
still  beat.  They  took  him  up  carefully,  and  carried  him 
gently  into  camp.  To  Dard's  delight  the  surgeon  pro- 
nounced him  curable.  For  all  that,  he  was  three  days 
insensible,  and  after  that  unfit  for  duty.  So  they  sent 
him  home  invalided,  with  a  hundred  francs  out  of  the 
poor  colonel's  purse. 

Eaynal  reported  the  evacuation  of  the  place,  and  that 
Colonel  Dujardin  was  buried  under  the  bastion,  and  soon 
after  rode  out  of  the  camp. 

The  words  Camille  had  scratched  with  a  pencil,  and 
sent  him  from  the  edge  of  the  grave,  were  few  but 
striking. 


WHITE  LIES.  369 

"  A  dead  man  takes  you  once  more  by  the  hand.  My  last 
thought,  thank  God,  is  France.  For  her  sake  and  mine, 
Raynal,  go  for  General  Boxatarte.  Tell  him,  from  a 
dying  soldier,  the  Rhine  is  a  river  to  these  generals,  but  to 
him  a  iield  of  glory.  He  will  lay  out  our  lives,  not  waste 
them." 

There  was  nothing  to  hinder  Raynal  from  carrying  out 
this  sacred  request :  for  the  24th  brigade  had  ceased  to 
exist :  already  thinned  by  hard  service,  it  was  reduced 
to  a  lile  or  two  by  the  fatal  bastion.  It  was  incor2)orated 
with  the  12th  ;  and  Raynal  rode  heavy  at  heart  to  Paris, 
with  a  black  scarf  across  his  breast. 


370  WHITE    LIES. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

You  see  now  into  what  a  fatal  entanglement  two  high- 
minded  young  ladies  were  led,  step  by  step,  through 
yielding  to  the  natural  foible  of  their  sex  —  the  desire 
to  hide  everything  painful  from  those  they  love,  even  at 
the  expense  of  truth. 

A  nice  mess  they  made  of  it  with  their  amiable 
dishonesty.  And  pray  take  notice  that  after  the  first 
White  Lie  or  two,  circumstances  overpowered  them,  and 
drove  them  on  against  their  will.  It  was  no  small  part 
of  all  their  misery  that  they  longed  to  get  back  to  truth 
and  could  not. 

We  shall  see  presently  how  far  they  succeeded  in  that 
pious  object,  for  the  sake  of  which  they  first  entered 
on  concealments.  But  first  a  word  is  due  about  one  of 
the  victims  of  their  amiable,  self-sacrificing  lubricity. 
Edouard  Riviere  fell  in  one  night,  from  happiness  and 
confidence,  such  as  till  that  night  he  had  never  enjoyed, 
to  deep  and  hopeless  misery. 

He  lost  that  which,  to  every  heart  capable  of  really 
loving,  is  the  greatest  earthly  blessing,  the  woman  he 
adored.  But  worse  than  that,  he  lost  those  prime  treas- 
nres  of  the  masculine  soul,  belief  in  human  goodness, 
and  in  female  purity.  To  him  no  more  could  there  be 
in  nature  a  candid  eye,  a  virtuous  ready-mantling  cheek  : 
for  frailty  and  treachery  had  put  on  these  signs  of  virtue 
and  nobility.  Henceforth,  let  him  live  a  hundred  years, 
whom  could  he  trust  or  believe  in  ? 

Here  was  a  creature  whose  virtues  seemed  to  make 
frailty  impossible  :  treachery,  doubly  impossible  :  a  creat- 


WHITE   LIES.  371 

ure  whose  very  faults — for  faults  she  had  —  had  seemed 
as  opposite  to  treachery  as  her  very  virtues  were.  Yet 
she  was  all  frailty  and  falsehood. 

He  passed  in  that  one  night  of  anguish  from  youth  to 
age.  He  went  about  his  business  like  a  leaden  thing. 
His  food  turned  tasteless.  His  life  seemed  ended. 
Nothing  appeared  what  it  had  been.  The  very  land- 
scape seemed  cut  in  stone,  and  he  a  stone  in  the  middle 
of  it,  and  his  heart  a  stone  in  him.  At  times,  across  that 
heavy  heart  came  gushes  of  furious  rage  and  bitter  mor- 
tification ;  his  heart  was  broken,  and  his  faith  was  gone, 
for  his  vanity  had  been  stabbed  as  fiercely  as  his  love. 
"  Georges  Dandin  ! "  he  would  cry,  "  curse  her !  curse 
her!"  But  love  and  misery  overpowered  these  heats, 
and  froze  him  to  stone  again. 

The  poor  boy  pined  and  pined.  His  clothes  hung  loose 
about  him ;  his  face  was  so  drawn  with  suffering,  you 
would  not  have  known  him.  He  hated  company.  The 
things  he  was  expected  to  talk  about !  —  he  with  his 
crushed  heart.  He  could  not.  He  would  not.  He 
shunned  all  the  world ;  he  went  alone  like  a  wounded 
deer.  The  good  doctor,  on  his  return  from  Paris,  called 
on  him  to  see  if  he  was  ill :  since  he  had  not  come  for 
days  to  the  chateau.  He  saw  the  doctor  coming  and 
bade  the  servant  say  he  was  not  in  the  village. 

He  drew  down  the  blind,  that  he  might  never  see  the 
chateau  again.  He  drew  it  up  again  :  he  could  not  exist 
without  seeing  it.  "  She  will  be  miserable,  too,"  he 
cried,  gnashing  his  teeth.  "  She  will  see  whether  she 
has  chosen  well."  At  other  times,  all  his  courage,  and 
his  hatred,  and  his  wounded  vanity,  were  drowned  in  his 
love  and  its  despair,  and  then  he  bowed  his  head,  and 
sobbed  and  cried  as  if  his  heart  would  burst.  Quo 
morning  he  was  so  sobbing  with  his  head  on  the  table, 
when  his  landlady  tapped  at  his  door.  He  started  up^ 
and  turned  his  head  away  from  the  door. 


372  WHITE    LIES. 

"A  young  woman  from  Beaurepaire,  monsieur." 

"  From  Beaurepaire  ?  "  his  heart  gave  a  furious  leap. 
"  Show  her  in." 

He  wiped  his  eyes  and  seated  himself  at  a  table,  and, 
all  in  a  flutter,  pretended  to  be  the  state's. 

It  was  not  Jacintha,  as  he  expected,  but  the  other 
servant.  She  made  a  low  reverence,  cast  a  look  of  admi- 
ration on  him,  and  gave  him  a  letter.  His  eye  darted  on 
it :  his  hand  trembled  as  he  took  it.  He  turned  away 
again  to  open  it.  He  forced  himself  to  say,  in  a  tolera- 
bly calm  voice,  "  I  will  send  an  answer." 

The  letter  was  apparently  from  the  baroness  de  Beau- 
repaire ;  a  mere  line  inviting  him  to  pay  her  a  visit.  It 
was  written  in  a  tremulous  hand.  Edouard  examined 
the  writing,  and  saw  directly  it  was  written  by  Rose. 

Being  now,  naturally  enough,  full  of  suspicion,  he  set 
this  down  as  an  attempt  to  disguise  her  hand.  "So," 
said  he,  to  himself,  "  this  is  the  game.  The  old  woman  is 
to  be  drawn  into  it,  too.  She  is  to  help  to  make  Georges 
Dandin  of  me.  I  will  go.  I  will  baffle  them  all.  I  will 
expose  this  nest  of  depravity,  all  ceremony  on  the  sur- 
face, and  voluptuousness  and  treachery  below.  0  God  ! 
who  could  believe  that  creature  never  loved  me  !  They 
shall  none  of  them  see  my  weakness.  Their  benefactor 
shall  be  still  their  superior.  They  shall  see  me  cold  as 
ice,  and  bitter  as  gall." 

But  to  follow  him  farther  just  now,  would  be  to  run 
too  far  in  advance  of  the  main  story.  I  must,  therefore, 
return  to  Beaurepaire,  and  show,  amongst  other  things, 
how  this  very  letter  came  to  be  written. 

When  Josephine  and  Rose  awoke  from  that  startled 
slumber  that  followed  the  exhaustion  of  that  troubled 
night,  Rose  was  the  more  wretched  of  the  two.  She  had 
not  only  dishonored  herself,  but  stabbed  the  man  she 
loved. 


WHITE   LIES.  373 

Josephine,  on  the  other  hand,  was  exhausted,  but  calm. 
The  fearful  escape  she  had  had  softened  down  by  con- 
trast her  more  distant  terrors. 

She  began  to  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  let  herself  drift. 
Above  all,  the  doctor's  promise  comforted  her :  that  she 
should  go  to  Paris  with  him,  and  have  her  boy. 

This  deceitful  calm  of  the  heart  lasted  three  days. 

Carefully  encouraged  by  Rose,  it  was  destroyed  by 
Jacintha. 

Jacintha,  conscious  that  she  had  betrayed  her  trust, 
was  almost  heart-broken.  She  was  ashamed  to  appear 
before  her  young  mistress,  and,  coward-like,  wanted  to 
avoid  knowing  even  how  much  harm  she  had  done. 

She  pretended  toothache,  bound  up  her  face,  and  never 
stirred  from  the  kitchen.  But  she  was  not  to  escape  : 
the  other  servant  came  down  with  a  message  :  "  Madame 
Raynal  wanted  to  see  her  directly." 

She  came  quaking,  and  found  Josephine  all  alone. 

Josephine  rose  to  meet  her,  and  casting  a  furtive  glance 
round  the  room  first,  threw  her  arms  round  Jacintha's 
neck,  and  embraced  her  with  many  tears. 

"  Was  ever  fidelity  like  yours  ?  how  could  you  do  it, 
Jacintha  ?  and  how  can  I  ever  repay  it  ?  But,  no  ;  it  is 
too  base  of  me  to  accept  such  a  sacrifice  from  any  woman." 

Jacintha  was  so  confounded  she  did  not  know  what  to 
say.  But  it  was  a  mystification  that  could  not  endure 
long  between  two  women,  who  were  both  deceived  by  a 
third.  Between  them  they  soon  discovered  that  it  must 
have  been  Rose  who  had  sacrificed  herself. 

"And  Edouard  has  never  been  here  since,"  said 
Josephine. 

"  And  never  will,  madarae." 

"Yes,  he  shall !  there  must  be  some  limit  even  to  my 
feebleness,  and  my  sister's  devotion.  You  sliall  take  a 
line  to  him  from  me.     I  will  write  it  this  mouient."' 


374  WHITE  LIES. 

The  letter  was  written.  But  it  was  never  sent.  Rose 
found  Josephine  and  Jacintha  together;  saw  a  letter 
was  being  written,  asked  to  see  it ;  on  Josephine's  hesi- 
tating, snatched  it  out  of  her  hand,  read  it,  tore  it  to 
pieces,  and  told  Jacintha  to  leave  the  room.  She  hated 
the  sight  of  poor  Jacintha,  who  had  slept  at  the  very 
moment  when  all  depended  on  her  watchfulness. 

*'  So  you  were  going  to  send  to  hivi,  unknown  to  me." 

"  Forgive  me,  Rose."     Rose  burst  out  crying. 

"  0  Josephine  !  is  it  come  to  this  ?  Would  you  deceive 
me?" 

"  You  have  deceived  vie !  Yes  !  it  has  come  to  that. 
i  kiiow  all.     I  will  not  consent  to  destroy  all  I  love." 

She  then  begged  hard  for  leave  to  send  the  letter. 

Rose  gave  an  impetuous  refusal.  "What  could  you 
say  to  him  ?  foolish  thing,  don't  you  know  him,  and  his 
vanity  ?  When  you  had  exposed  yourself  to  him,  and 
showed  him  I  had  insulted  him  for  you,  do  you  think 
he  would  forgive  me  ?  No  !  this  is  to  make  light  of  my 
love — to  make  me  waste  the  sacrifice  I  have  made.  I 
feel  that  sacrifice  as  much  as  you  do,  more  perhaps,  and 
I  would  rather  die  in  a  convent  than  waste  that  night  of 
shame  and  agony.  Come,  promise  me,  no  more  attempts 
of  that  kind,  or  we  are  sisters  no  more,  friends  no  more, 
one  heart  and  one  blood  no  more." 

The  weaker  nature,  weakened  still  more  by  ill-health 
and  grief,  was  terrified  into  submission,  or  rather  tem- 
porized. "Kiss  me  then,"  said  Josephine,  "and  love  me 
to  the  end.     Ah,  if  I  was  only  in  my  grave  ! " 

Rose  kissed  her  with  many  sighs,  but  Josephine  smiled. 
Rose  eyed  her  with  suspicion.  That  deep  smile ;  what 
did  it  mean  ?  She  had  formed  some  resolution.  "  She 
\s  going  to  deceive  me  somehow,"  thought  Rose. 

From  that  day  she  watched  Josephine  like  a  spy. 
Confidence  vp-as  gone  between  them.  Suspicion  took  its 
place. 


WHITE  LIES.  375 

Rose  was  right  in  her  misgivings.  The  moment 
Josephine  saw  that  Edouard's  hajjpiness  and  Rose's 
were  to  be  sacrificed  for  her  whom  nothing  couhl  make 
happy,  the  poor  thing  said  to  herself,  ''I  can  dik." 

And  that  was  the  happy  thonght  that  made  her  smile. 

The  doctor  gave  her  laudanum  :  he  found  she  could 
not  sleep :  and  he  thought  it  all-important  that  she 
should  sleep. 

Josephine,  instead  of  taking  these  small  doses,  saved 
them  all  up,  secreted  them  in  a  phial,  and  so,  from  the 
sleep  of  a  dozen  nights,  collected  the  sleep  of  death  :  and 
now  she  was  tranquil.  This  young  creature  that  could  not 
bear  to  give  pain  to  any  one  else,  prepared  her  own  death 
with  a  calm  resolution  the  heroes  of  our  sex  have  not 
often  equalled.  It  was  so  little  a  thing  to  her  to  strike 
Josephine.  Death  would  save  her  honor,  would  spare 
her  the  frightful  alternative  of  deceiving  her  husband, 
or  of  telling  him  she  was  another's.  "Poor  Raynal," 
said  she  to  herself,  "it  is  so  cruel  to  tie  him  to  a  woman 
who  can  never  be  to  him  what  he  deserves.  Rose  would 
then  prove  her  innocence  to  Edouard.  A  few  tears  for 
a  weak,  loving  soul,  and  they  would  all  be  happy  and 
forget  her." 

One  day  the  baroness,  finding  herself  alone  with  Rose 
and  Dr.  Aubertin,  asked  the  latter  what  he  thought  of 
Josephine's  state. 

"Oh,  she  was  better :  had  slept  last  night  without  her 
usual  narcotic." 

The  baroness  laid  down  her  knitting  and  said,  with 
much  meaning,  "  And  I  tell  you,  you  will  never  cure  her 
body  till  you  can  cure  her  mind.  My  poor  child  has 
some  secret  sorrow." 

"Sorrow!"  said  Aubertin,  stoutly  concealing  the  utt 
easiness  these  words  created,  "  what  sorrow  ?  " 


376  WHITE   LIES. 

"Oh,  she  has  some  deep  sorrow.  And  so  have  you, 
Rose." 

"  Me,  mamma !  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  baroness's  pale  cheek  flushed  a  little.  "  I  mean," 
said  she,  "  that  my  patience  is  worn  out  at  last ;  I  cannot 
live  surrounded  by  secrets.  Raynal's  gloomy  looks  when 
he  left  us,  after  staying  but  one  hour;  Josephine  ill 
from  that  day,  and  bursting  into  tears  at  every  word ; 
yourself  pale  and  changed,  hiding  an  unaccountable  sad- 
ness under  forced  smiles —  Now,  don't  interrupt  me. 
Edouard,  who  was  almost  like  a  son,  gone  off,  without  a 
word,  and  never  comes  near  us  now." 

*'  Really  you  are  ingenious  in  tormenting  yourself. 
Josephine  is  ill !  Well,  is  it  so  very  strange  ?  Have 
you  never  been  ill  ?  Rose  is  pale !  you  are  pale,  my 
dear  ;  but  she  has  nursed  her  sister  for  a  month ;  is  it  a 
wonder  she  has  lost  color  ?  Edouard  is  gone  a  journey, 
to  inherit  his  uncle's  property :  a  million  francs.  But 
don't  you  go  and  fall  ill,  like  Josephine  ;  turn  pale,  like 
Rose ;  and  make  journeys  in  the  region  of  fancy,  after 
Edouard  Riviere,  who  is  tramping  along  on  the  vulgar 
high  road." 

This  tirade  came  from  Aubertin,  and  very  clever  he 
thought  himself.  But  he  had  to  do  with  a  shrewd  old 
lady,  whose  suspicions  had  long  smouldered;  and  now 
burst  out.  She  said  quietly,  "  Oh,  then  Edouard  is  not 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  That  alters  the  case :  where 
is  he  ?  " 

"  In  Normandy,  probably,"  said  Rose,  blushing. 

The  baroness  looked  inquiringly  towards  Aubertin. 
He  put  on  an  innocent  face  and  said  nothing. 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  baroness.  "  It's  plain  I  am  to 
learn  nothing  from  you  two.  But  I  know  somebody  who 
will  be  more  communicative.  Yes :  this  uncomfortable 
smiling,  and  unreasonable  crying,  and  interminable  whis* 


WHITE   LIES.  377 

pering ;  these  appearances  of  the  absent,  and  disappear- 
ances of  the  present;  I  shall  know  this  very  day  what 
they  all  mean." 

"  Really,  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Oh,  never  mind ;  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  I  am  in 
my  dotage.  For  all  that,  perhaps  you  will  allov.'  me  two 
words  alone  with  my  daughter," 

"I  retire,  madame,"  and  he  disappeared  with  a  bow  to 
her,  and  an  anxious  look  at  Rose.  She  did  not  need 
this ;  she  clenched  her  teeth,  and  braced  herself  up  to 
stand  a'  severe  interrogatory. 

Mother  and  daughter  looked  at  one  another,  as  if  to 
measure  forces,  and  then,  instead  of  questioning  her  as 
she  had  intended,  the  baroness  sank  back  in  her  chair 
and  wept  aloud.  Rose  was  all  unprepared  for  this.  She 
almost  screamed  in  a  voice  of  agony,  "  0  mamma ! 
mamma  !  0  God  !  kill  me  where  I  stand  for  making 
my  mother  weep  ! " 

"  My  girl,"  said  the  baroness  in  a  broken  voice,  and 
with  the  most  touching  dignity,  "  may  you  never  know 
what  a  mother  feels  who  finds  herself  shut  out  from  her 
daughters'  hearts.  Sometimes  1  think  it  is  my  fault ;  I 
was  born  in  a  severer  age,  A  mother  nowadays  seems 
to  be  a  sort  of  elder  sister.  In  my  day  she  was  some- 
thing more.  Yet  I  loved  my  mother  as  well,  or  better 
than  I  did  my  sisters.  But  it  is  not  so  with  those  I 
have  borne  in  my  bosom,  and  nursed  upon  my  knee." 

At  this  Rose  flung  herself,  sobbing  and  screaming,  at 
her  mother's  knees.  The  baroness  was  alarmed.  "Come, 
dearest,  don't  cry  like  that.  It  is  not  too  late  to  take 
your  poor  old  mother  into  your  confidence.  What  is 
this  mystery  ?  and  Avhy  this  sorrow  ?  How  comes  it  I 
intercept  at  every  instant  glances  that  were  not  intended 
for  me  ?  Why  is  the  very  air  loaded  with  signals  and 
secrecy  ?     (Rose  replied  only  by  sobs.)     Is  some  deceit 


378  WHITE   LIES. 

going  on?  (Rose  sobbed.)  Am  I  to  have  no  reply  but 
these  sullen  sobs  ?  will  you  really  tell  me  nothing  ?  " 

"  I've  nothing  to  tell,"  sobbed  Rose. 

"Well,  then,  will  you  do  something  for  me  ?" 

Such  a  proposal  was  not  only  a  relief,  but  a  delight  to 
the  deceiving  but  loving  daughter.  She  started  up  cry- 
ing, "Oh,  yes,  mamma;  anything,  everything.  Oh, 
thank  you ! "  In  the  ardor  of  her  gratitude,  she 
wanted  to  kiss  her  mother ;  but  the  baroness  declined 
the  embrace  politely,  and  said,  coldly  and  bitterly,  "  I 
shall  not  ask  much  ;  I  should  not  venture  now  "to  draw 
largely  on  your  affection ;  it's  only  to  write  a  few  lines 
for  me." 

Rose  got  paper  and  ink  with  great  alacrity,  and  sat 
down  all  beaming,  pen  in  hand. 

The  baroness  dictated  the  letter  slowly,  with  an  eye 
gimleting  her  daughter  all  the  time. 

"  Dear  —  Monsleui-  —  RiviereJ'^ 

The  pen  fell  from  Rose's  hand,  and  she  turned  red  and 
then  pale. 

"  What !  write  to  him  ?  " 

"  Not  in  your  own  name ;  in  mine.  But  perhaps  you 
prefer  to  give  me  the  trouble." 

"  Cruel !  cruel ! "  sighed  Rose,  and  wrote  the  words  as 
requested. 

The  baroness  dictated  again,  — 

"  Oblige  me  by  co7ning  here  at  your  very  earliest  convert' 
ience.'" 

"  But,  mamma,  if  he  is  in  Normandy,"  remonstrated 
Rose,  fighting  every  inch  of  the  ground. 

"Never  you  mind  where  he  is,"  said  the  baroness. 
"  Write  as  I  request." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Rose  with  sudden  alacrity ;  for 
she  had  recovered  her  ready  wit,  and  was  prepared  to 
write  anything,  being  now  fully  resolved  the  letter 
should  never  go.    ^ 


WHITE  LIES.  379 

"Now  sign  my  name."  Rose  complied.  "There; 
now  fold  it,  and  address  it  to  his  lodgings."  Rose  did 
so ;  and,  rising  with  a  cheerful  air,  said  she  would  send 
Jacintha  with  it  directly. 

She  was  half  across  the  room  when  her  mother  called 
her  quietly  back. 

"No,  mademoiselle,"  said  she  sternly.  "You  will 
give  me  the  letter.  I  can  trust  neither  the  friend  of 
twenty  years,  nor  the  servant  that  stayed  by  me  in 
adversity,  nor  the  daughter  I  suffered  for  and  nursed. 
And  why  don't  I  trust  you  ?  Because  you  have  told  me 
a  lie." 

At  this  word,  which  in  its  coarsest  form  she  had  never 
heard  from  those  high-born  lips  till  then,  Rose  cowered 
like  a  hare. 

"Ay,  a  lie,^^  said  the  baroness.  "  I  saw  Edouard  Riviere 
in  the  park  but  yesterday.  I  saw  him.  ]\Iy  old  eyes 
are  feeble,  but  they  are  not  deceitful.  I  saw  him.  Send 
my  breakfast  to  my  own  room.  I  come  of  an  ancient 
race :  I  could  not  sit  with  liars ;  I  should  forget  courtesy  ; 
you  would  see  in  my  face  how  thoroughly  I  scorn  you 
all."  And  she  went  haughtily  out  with  the  letter  iu  her 
hand. 

Rose,  for  the  first  time,  was  prostrated.  Vain  had  been 
all  this  deceit ;  her  mother  was  not  happy ;  was  not 
blinded.  Edouard  might  come  and  tell  her  his  story. 
Then  no  j)ower  could  keep  Josephine  silent.  The  plot 
was  thickening ;  the  fatal  net  was  drawing  closer  and 
closer. 

She  sank  with  a  groan  into  a  chair,  and  body  and 
spirit  alike  succumbed.  Rut  that  was  only  for  a  little 
while.  To  this  prostration  succeeded  a  feverish  excite- 
ment. She  could  not,  would  not,  look  Edouard  in  the 
face.  She  would  implore  Josephine  to  be  silent ;  and 
she  herself  would  fly  from  the  chateau.     But,  if  Joseph- 


380  WHITE    LIES. 

ine  would  not  be  silent?  Why,  then  she  would  go 
herself  to  Edouard,  and  throw  herself  upon  his  honor, 
and  tell  him  the  truth.  With  this,  she  ran  wildly  up 
the  stairs,  and  burst  into  Josephine's  room  so  suddenly, 
that  she  caught  her,  pale  as  death,  on  her  knees,  with  a 
letter  in  one  hand  and  a  phial  of  laudanum  in  the  othei. 


WHITE   LIES.  381 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

Josephine  conveyed  the  pliial  into  her  bosom  with 
wonderful  rapidity  and  dexterity,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 
But  Rose  just  saw  her  conceal  something,  and  resolved  to 
find  out  quietly  what  it  was.  So  she  said  nothing  about 
it,  but  asked  Josephine  what  on  earth  she  was  doing. 

"I  was  praying." 

"  And  what  is  that  letter  ?  " 

"  A  letter  I  have  just  received  from  Colonel  Raynal." 

Rose  took  the  letter  and  read  it.  Raynal  had  written 
from  Paris.  He  was  coming  to  Beaurepaire  to  stay  a 
month,  and  was  to  arrive  that  very  day. 

Then  Rose  forgot  all  about  herself,  and  even  what  she 
had  come  for.  She  clung  about  her  sister's  neck,  and 
implored  her,  for  her  sake,  to  try  and  love  Raynal. 

Josephine  shuddered,  and  clung  weeping  to  her  sister 
in  turn.  For  in  Rose's  arms  she  realized  more  power- 
fully what  that  sister  would  suffer  if  she  were  to  die. 
jSTow,  while  they  clung  together,  Rose  felt  something 
hard,  and  contrived  just  to  feel  it  with  her  cheek.  It 
was  the  phial. 

A  chill  suspicion  crossed  the  poor  girl.  The  attitude 
in  which  she  had  found  Josephine  ;  the  letter,  the  look 
of  despair,  and  now  this  little  bottle,  which  she  had  hid- 
den. Why  hide  it?  She  resolved  not  to  let  Josephine 
out  of  her  sight ;  at  all  events,  until  she  had  seen  this 
little  bottle,  and  got  it  away  from  her. 

She  helped  her  to  dress,  and  breakfasted  with  her  in 
the  tapestried  room,  and  dissembled,  and  put  on  gayety, 
and  made  light  of  everything  but  Josephine'.s  health. 


382  WHITE   LIES. 

Her  efforts  were  not  quite  in  vain.  Josephine  became 
more  composed ;  and  Rose  even  drew  from  her  a  half 
promise  that  she  would  give  Raynal  and  time  a  fair  trial. 

And  now  Rose  was  relieved  of  her  immediate  appre- 
hensions for  Josephine,  but  the  danger  of  another  kind, 
from  Edouard,  remained.  So  she  ran  into  her  bedroom 
for  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  determined  to  take  the  strong 
measure  of  visiting  Edouard  at  once,  or  intercepting  him. 
While  she  was  making  her  little  toilet,  she  heard  her 
mother's  voice  in  the  room.  This  was  unlucky ;  she 
must  pass  through  that  room  to  go  out.  She  sat  down 
and  fretted  at  this  delay.  And  then,  as  the  baroness 
appeared  to  be  very  animated.  Rose  went  to  the  keyhole, 
and  listened.  Their  mother  was  telling  Josephine  how 
she  had  questioned  Rose,  and  how  Rose  had  told  her  an 
untruth,  and  how  she  had  made  that  young  lady  write  to 
Edouard,  etc.  ;  in  short,  the  very  thing  Rose  wanted  to 
conceal  from  Josephine. 

Rose  lost  all  patience,  and  determined  to  fly  through 
the  room  and  out  before  anybody  could  stop  her.  She 
heard  Jacintha  come  in  with  some  message,  and  thought 
that  would  be  a  good  opportunity  to  slip  out  unmolested. 
So  she  opened  the  door  softly.  Jacintha,  it  seemed,  had 
been  volunteering  some  remark  that  was  not  well  received, 
for  the  baroness  was  saying,  sharply,  "  Your  opinion  is 
not  asked.  Go  down  directly,  and  bring  him  up  here,  to 
this  room."  Jacintha  cast  a  look  of  dismay  at  Rose,  and 
vanished. 

Rose  gathered  from  that  look,  as  much  as  from  the 
words,  who  the  visitor  was.  She  made  a  dart  after 
Jacintha.  But  the  room  was  a  long  one,  and  the  baron- 
ess intercepted  her  :  "  No,"  said  i:he,  gravely,  "  I  cannot 
spare  you." 

Rose  stood  pale  and  panting,  but  almost  defiant. 
"  Mamma,"  said  she,  "  if  it  is  Monsieur  Riviere,  I  mvst 


"WHITE   LTES.  383 

ask  your  leave  to  retire.  And  you  liave  neither  love  no'' 
pity,  nor  respect  for  me,  if  you  detain  me." 

"  Mademoiselle  !  "  was  the  stern  repl}^,  "  I  forbid  you 
to  move.  Be  good  enough  to  sit  there ; "  with  which  the 
baroness  pointed  imperiously  to  a  sofa  at  the  other  side 
of  the  room.  ''  Josephine,  go  to  your  room."  Josephine 
retired,  casting  more  than  one  anxious  glance  over  her 
shoulder. 

Kose  looked  this  way  and  that  in  despair  and  terror; 
but  ended  by  sinking,  more  dead  than  alive,  into  the  seat 
indicated  ;  and  even  as  she  drooped,  pale  and  trembling, 
on  that  sofa,  Edouard  Riviere,  worn  and  agitated,  entered 
the  room,  and  bowed  low  to  them  all,  without  a  word. 

The  baroness  looked  at  him,  and  then  at  her  daughter, 
as  much  as  to  say,  now  I  have  got  you  ;  deceive  me  now  if 
you  can.  "  Rose,  my  dear,"  said  this  terrible  old  woman, 
affecting  honeyed  accents,  "  don't  you  see  Monsieur 
Riviere  ?  " 

The  poor  girl  at  this  challenge  rose  with  difficulty,  and 
courtesied  humbly  to  Edouard. 

He  bowed  to  her,  and  stealing  a  rapid  glance  saw  her 
i:)allor  and  distress ;  and  that  showed  him  she  was  not  so 
hardened  as  he  had  thought. 

''You  have  not  come  to  see  us  lately,"  said  the  baroness, 
quietly,  "yet  you  have  been  in  the  neighborhood." 

These  words  puzzled  Edouard.  Was  the  old  lady  all 
in  the  dark,  then  ?  As  a  public  man  he  had  already 
learned  to  be  on  his  guard ;  so  he  stammered  out,  "  That 
he  had  been  much  occupied  with  public  duties." 

Madame  deBeaurepaire  despised  this  threadbare  excuse 
too  much  to  notice  it  at  all.  She  went  on  as  if  he  had 
said  nothing.  "  Intimate  as  you  were  with  us,  you  must 
have  some  reason  for  deserting  us  so  suddenly." 

"  I  have,"  said  Edouard,  gravely. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 


384  WHITE   LIES.' 

"Excuse  mo,"  said  Edouard,  sullenly. 

"'No,  monsieur,  1  cannot.  Tliis  neglect,  succeeding  to 
a  somewhat  ardent  jmrsuit  of  my  daughter,  is  almost 
an  affront.  You  shall,  of  course,  withdraw  yourself 
altogether,  if  you  choose.  But  not  without  an  explana- 
tion. This  much  is  due  to  me  ;  and,  if  you  are  a  gentle^ 
man,  you  will  not  withhold  it  from  me." 

"  If  he  is  a  gentleman  ! "  cried  Rose  ;  "  0  mamma,  do 
not  you  affront  a  gentleman,  who  never,  never  gave  you 
nor  me  any  ground  of  offence.  Why  affront  the  friends 
and  benefactors  Ave  have  lost  by  our  own  fault  ?  " 

"  Oh,  then,  it  is  all  your  fault,"  said  the  baroness. 
"  I  feared  as  much." 

"  All  my  fault,  all,"  said  Rose  ;  then  putting  her  pretty 
palms  together,  and  casting  a  look  of  abject  supplication 
on  Edouard,  she  murmured,  "  my  temper  !  " 

"Do  not  you  put  words  into  his  mouth,"  said  the 
shrewd  old  lady.  "  Come,  Monsieur  Riviere,  be  a  man^ 
and  tell  me  the  truth.  What  has  she  said  to  you  ?  What 
has  she  done  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  abject  state  of  terror  the  high-spirited 
Rose  was  in,  and  her  piteous  glances,  had  so  disarmed 
Edouard,  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  expose  her  to  her 
mother. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  stiffly,  taking  Rose's  hint,  "my 
temper  and  mademoiselle's  could  not  accord." 

"  Why,  her  temper  is  charming :  it  is  joyous,  equal, 
and  gentle." 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  madame ;  I  do  not  reproach 
Mademoiselle  Rose.     It  is  I  who  am  to  blame." 

"  For  what  ?  "  inquired  the  baroness  dryly. 

"  Eor  not  being  able  to  make  her  love  me." 

"  Oh !  that  is  it !     She  did  not  love  you  ?  " 

"Ask  herself,  madame,"  said  Edouard,  bitterly. 

"Rose/'  said  the  baroness,  her  eye  now  beginning  to 


"WHITE    LIES.  385 

twinkle,  "  were  you  really  guilty  of  such  a  want  of  dis- 
crimination ?     Didn't  you  love  monsieur  ?  " 

Rose  flung  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck,  and 
said,  "No,  mamma,  I  did  not  love  Monsieur  Edouard," 
in  an  exquisite  tone  of  love,  that  to  a  female  ear  con- 
veyed the  exact  opposite  of  the  words. 

But  Edouard  had  not  that  nice  discriminating  ear. 
He  sighed  deeply,  and  the  baroness  smiled.  '■'  You  tell 
me  that  ?  "  said  she,  "  and  you  tire  crying ! " 

"  She  is  crying,  madame  ?  "  said  Edouard,  inquiringly, 
and  taking  a  step  towards  them. 

"  Why,  you  see  she  is,  you  foolish  boy.  Come,  I  must 
put  an  end  to  this ; "  and  she  rose  coolly  from  her  seat, 
and  begging  Edouard  to  forgive  her  for  leaving  him  a 
moment  with  his  deadly  enemy,  went  off  with  knowing 
little  nods  into  Josephine's  room ;  only,  before  she  en- 
tered it,  she  turned,  and  with  a  maternal  smile  discharged 
this  word  at  the  pair. 

"Babies!" 

But  between  the  alienated  lovers  was  a  long  distress- 
ing silence.  Neither  knew  what  to  say ;  and  their 
situation  was  intolerable.  At  last  Rose  ventured  in  a 
timorous  voice  to  say,  "  I  thank  you  for  your  generosity. 
But  I  knew  that  you  would  not  betray  me." 

"Your  secret  is  safe  for  me,"  sighed  Edouard.  "Is 
there  anything  else  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

Rose  shook  her  head  sadly. 

Edouard  moved  to  the  door. 

Rose  bowed  her  head  with  a  despairing  moan.  It  took 
him  by  the  heart  and  held  him.  He  hesitated,  then 
came  towards  her. 

"  I  see  you  are  sorry  for  what  you  have  done  to  me 
who  loved  you  so ;  and  you  loved  me.  Oh !  yes,  do  not 
deny  it,  Rose;  there  was  a  time  you  loved  me.  And  that 
makes  it  worse :  to  have  given  me  such  sweet  hopes,  only 


386  WHITE  LIES. 

to  crush  both  them  and  me.  And  is  not  this  cruel  of 
you  to  weep  so  and  let  me  see  your  penitence  —  when  it 
is  too  late  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  how  can  I  help  my  regrets  ?  I  have  insulted 
so  good  a  friend." 

There  was  a  sad  silence.  Then  as  he  looked  at  her, 
her  looks  belied  the  charge  her  own  lips  had  made  against 
herself. 

A  light  seemed  to  burst  on  Edouard  from  that  high- 
minded,  sorrow-stricken  face. 

"  Tell  me  it  is  false  ! "  he  cried. 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  —  woman's  instinct  to 
avoid  being  read. 

"Tell  me  you  were  misled  then,  fascinated,  perverted, 
but  that  your  heart  returned  to  me.  Clear  yourself  of 
deliberate  deceit,  and  I  Avill  believe  and  thank  you  on  my 
knees." 

"  Heaven  have  pity  on  us  both !  "  cried  poor  Rose. 

"  Ou  us  !  Thank  you  for  saying  on  us.  See  now,  you 
have  not  gained  happiness  by  destroying  mine.  One 
word  —  do  you  love  that  man?  —  that  Dujardin?" 

"  You  know  I  do  not." 

"1  am  glad  of  that;  since  his  life  is  forfeited  ;  if  he 
escapes  my  friend  Raynal,  he  shall  not  escape  me." 

Rose  uttered  a  cry  of  terror.  "  Hush  !  not  so  loud. 
The  life  of  Camille  !  Oh  !  if  he  were  to  die,  what  would 
become  of  —  oh,  pray  do  not  speak  so  loud." 

"Own  then  that  you  do  love  him,"  yelled  Edouard; 
*'  give  me  truth,  if  you  have  no  love  to  give.  Own  that 
you  love  him,  and  he  shall  be  safe.  It  is  myself  I  will 
kill,  for  being  such  a  slave  as  to  love  you  still." 

Rose's  fortitude  gave  way. 

"I  cannot  bear  it,"  she  cried  despairingly;  "it  is 
beyond  my  strength;  Edouard,  swear  to  me  you  will 
keep  what  I  tell  you  secret  as  the  grave ! " 


WHITE    LIES.  387 

"Ah!"  cried  Edouard,  all  radiant  with  hope,  "I 
swear." 

"Then  you  are  under  a  delirium.  I  have  deceived,  but 
never  wronged  you;  that  unhappy  child  is  not  —  Hush  ! 
Here  she  comes.'" 

The  baroness  came  smiling  out,  and  Josephine's  wan, 
anxious  face  was  seen  behind  her. 

"  Well,"  said  the  baroness,  "  is  the  war  at  an  end  ? 
What,  are  we  still  silent  ?  Let  me  try  then  what  I  can 
do,     Edouard,  lend  me  your  hand." 

While  Edouard  hesitated,  Josephine  clasped  her  hands 
and  mutely  supplicated  him  to  consent.  Her  sad  face, 
and  the  thought  of  how  often  she  had  stood  his  friend, 
shook  his  resolution.  He  held  out  his  hand,  but  slowly 
and  reluctantly. 

"There  is  my  hand,"  he  groaned. 

"And  here  is  mine,  mamma,"  said  Rose,  smiling  to 
please  her  mother. 

Oh!  the  mixture  of  feeling,  when  her  soft  warm  palm 
pressed  his.  How  the  delicious  sense  baffled  and  mys- 
tified the  cold  judgment. 

Josephine  raised  her  eyes  thankfully  to  heaven. 

While  the  young  lovers  yet  thrilled  at  each  other's 
touch,  yet  could  not  look  one  another  in  the  face,  a  clatter 
of  horses'  feet  was  heard. 

"  That  is  Colonel  Raynal,"  said  Josephine,  with  un- 
natural  calmness.     "  I  expected  him  to-day." 

The  baroness  was  at  the  side  window  in  a  moment. 

"  It  is  he  !  — it  is  he!  " 

She  hurried  down  to  embrace  her  son. 

Josephine  went  without  a  word  to  her  own  room. 
Rose  followed  her  the  next  minute.  But  in  that  one 
minute  she  worked  magic. 

She  glided  up  to  Edouard,  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face :  not  the  sad,  depressed,  guilty -looking  humble  Rose 


388  WHITK    LIES. 

of  a  moment  before,  but  the  old  high-spirited,  and  some 
what  imperious  girl. 

"  You  have  shown  yourself  noble  this  day.  I  am 
going  to  trust  you  as  only  the  noble  are  trusted.  Stay 
in  the  house  till  I  can  speak  to  you." 

She  was  gone,  and  something  leaped  within  Edouard's 
bosom,  and  a  flood  of  light  seemed  to  burst  in  on  him. 
Yet  he  saw  no  object  clearly  :  but  he  saw  light. 

Rose  ran  into  Josephine's  room,  and  once  more  sur- 
prised her  on  her  knees,  and  in  the  very  act  of  hiding 
something  in  her  bosom. 

''  What  are  you  doing,  Josephine,  on  your  knees  ? " 
said  she,  sternly. 

"  I  have  a  great  trial  to  go  through,"  was  the  hesita- 
ting answer. 

Rose  said  nothing.  She  turned  paler.  She  is  deceiv- 
ing me,  thought  she,  and  she  sat  down  full  of  bitterness 
and  terror,  and,  affecting  not  to  watch  Josephine,  watched 
her. 

"  Go  and  tell  them  I  am  coming,  Rose." 

"  No,  Josephine,  I  will  not  leave  you  till  this  terrible 
meeting  is  over.  We  will  encounter  him  hand  in  hand, 
as  we  used  to  go  when  our  hearts  were  one,  and  we  de- 
ceived others,  but  never  each  other." 

At  this  tender  reproach  Josephine  fell  upon  her  neck 
and  wept. 

"  I  will  not  deceive  you,"  she  said.  "  I  am  worse  than 
the  poor  doctor  thinks  me.  My  life  is  but  a  little  candle 
that  a  breath  may  put  out  any  day." 

Rose  said  nothing,  but  trembled  and  watched  her 
keenly. 

"  My  little  Henri,"  said  Josephine  imploringly,  "  what 
would  you  do  with  him  —  if  anything  should  happen  to 
me?" 

"  What  would  I  do  with  him  ?     He  is  mine.    I  should 


WHITE    LIES.  389 

be  his  mother.  Oh  !  what  words  are  these :  my  heart ! 
my  heart ! " 

"No,  clearest;  some  day  3-ou  will  be  married,  and  owe 
all  the  mother  to  your  children ;  and  Henri  is  not  ours 
only :  he  belongs  to  some  one  I  have  seemed  unkind  to. 
Perhaps  he  thinks  me  heartless.  For  I  am  a  foolish 
woman;  I  don't  know  how  to  be  virtuous,  yet  show  a 
man  my  heart.  But  then  he  will  understand  me  and  for- 
give me.  Rose,  love,  you  will  write  to  him.  He  will 
come  to  you.  You  will  go  together  to  the  place  where  I 
shall  be  sleeping.  You  will  show  him  my  heart.  You 
will  tell  him  all  my  long  love  that  lasted  to  the  end. 
You  need  not  blush  to  tell  him  all.  I  have  no  right. 
Then  you  will  give  him  his  poor  Josephine's  boy,  and 
you  will  say  to  him,  '  She  never  loved  but  you :  she 
gives  you  all  that  is  left  of  hei',  her  child.  She  only 
prays  you  not  to  give  him  a  bad  mother.' " 

Poor  soul !  this  was  her  one  bit  of  little,  gentle  jeal- 
ousy ;  but  it  made  her  eyes  stream.  She  would  have 
put  out  her  hand  from  the  tomb  to  keep  her  boy's  father 
single  all  his  life. 

"  Oh !  my  Josephine,  my  darling  sister,"  cried  Rose, 
"  why  do  you  speak  of  death  ?  Do  you  meditate  a 
crime  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  it  was  on  my  heart  to  say  it :  it  has  done 
me  good." 

"At  least,  take  me  to  your  bosom,  my  well-beloved, 
that  I  may  not  see  your  tears." 

"  There  —  tears  ?  No,  you  have  lightened  my  heart. 
Bless  you !  bless  you  !  " 

The  sisters  twined  their  bosoms  together  in  a  long, 
gentle  embrace.  You  might  have  taken  them  for  two 
angels  that  flowed  together  in  one  love,  but  for  their 
tears. 

A  deep  voice  was  now  heard  in  the  sitting-room. 


390  WHITE   LIES. 

Josephine  and  Rose  postponed  the  inevitable  one 
moment  more,  by  arranging  their  hair  in  the  glass  :  then 
they  opened  the  door,  and  entered  the  tapestried  room. 

Raynal  was  sitting  on  the  sofa,  the  baroness's  hand  in 
his.     Edouard  was  not  there. 

Colonel  Raynal  had  given  him  a  strange  look,  and 
said,  "  What,  you  here  ?  "  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  wa.s 
intolerable. 

Raynal  came  to  meet  the  sisters.  He  saluted  Joseph- 
ine on  the  brow. 

"  You  are  pale,  wife :  and  how  cold  her  hand  is." 

"  She  has  been  ill  this  month  past,"  said  Rose  inter- 
posing. 

"  You  look  ill,  too.  Mademoiselle  Rose." 

"Never  mind,"  cried  the  baroness  joyously,  "you  will 
revive  them  both." 

Raynal  made  no  reply  to  that. 

"  How  long  do  you  stay  this  time,  a  day  ?  " 

"A  month,  mother." 

The  doctor  now  joined  the  party,  and  friendly  greet- 
ings passed  between  him  and  Raynal. 

But  ere  long  somehow  all  became  conscious  this  was 
not  a  joyful  meeting.  The  baroness  could  not  alone 
sustain  the  spirits  of  the  party,  and  soon  even  she  began 
to  notice  that  Raynal's  replies  were  short,  and  that  his 
manner  was  distrait  and  gloomy.  The  sisters  saw  this 
too,  and  trembled  for  what  might  be  coming. 

At  last  Raynal  said  bluntly,  "Josephine,  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  alone." 

The  baroness  gave  the  doctor  a  look,  and  made  an 
excuse  for  going  down-stairs  to  her  own  room.  As  she 
was  going  Josephine  went  to  her  and  said  calmly,  — 

"  Mother,  you  have  not  kissed  me  to-day." 

"  There  !     Bless  you,  my  darling  ! " 

Raynal  looked  at  Rose.     She  saw  she  must  go,  but  she 


WHITE    LIES.  391 

lingered,  and  sought  her  sister's  eye  :  it  avoided  her. 
At  that  Rose  ran  to  the  doctor,  who  was  just  going  out 
of  the  door. 

"  Oh !  doctor,"  she  whispered  trembling,  "  don't  go 
beyond  the  door.  I  found  her  praying.  My  mind  mis- 
gives me.  She  is  going  to  tell  him  —  or  something 
worse." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  to  say  all  I  dread.  She  could  not  be  so 
calm  if  she  meant  to  live.  Be  near !  as  I  shall.  She 
has  a  phial  hid  in  her  bosom." 

She  left  the  old  man  trembling,  and  went  back. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  she  to  Raynal,  "  I  only  came  to 
ask  Josephine  if  she  wants  anything." 

"  Xo  !  — yes  !  —  a  glass  of  ecni  sucree.^' 

Rose  mixed  it  for  her.  While  doing  this  she  noticed 
that  Josephine  shunned  her  eye,  but  Raynal  gazed 
gently  and  with  an  air  of  pity  on  her. 

She  retired  slowly  into  Josephine's  bedroom,  but  did 
not  quite  close  the  door. 

Raynal  had  something  to  say  so  painful  that  he  shrank 
from  plunging  into  it.  He  therefore,  like  many  others, 
tried  to  creep  into  it,  beginning  with  something  else. 

"Your  health,"  said  he,  "alarms  me.  You  seem  sad, 
too.  I  don't  understand  that.  You  have  no  news  from 
the  Rhine,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Monsieur ! "  said  Josephine  scared. 

"Do  not  call  me  monsieur,  nor  look  so  frightened. 
Call  me  your  friend.     I  am  your  sincere  friend." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  always  were." 

"  Thank  you.  You  will  give  me  a  dearer  title  before 
we  part  this  time." 

"Yes,"  said  Josephine  in  a  low  whisper,  and  shud- 
dered. 

"  Have  you  forgiven  me  frightening  you  so  that 
night  ?  " 


392  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Yes." 

"  It  was  a  shock  to  me,  too,  I  can  tell  you,  I  like  the 
boy.  She  professed  to  love  him,  and,  to  own  the  truth, 
I  loathe  all  treachery  and  deceit.  If  I  had  done  a  mur- 
der, I  would  own  it.  A  lie  doubles  every  crime.  But  I 
took  heart ;  we  are  all  selfish,  we  men  ;  of  the  two  sis- 
ters one  was  all  innocence  and  good  faith  ;  and  she  was 
the  one  I  had  chosen." 

At  these  words  Josephine  rose,  like  a  statue  moving, 
and  took  a  phial  from  her  bosom  and  poured  the  con- 
tents into  the  glass. 

But  ere  she  could  drink  it,  if  such  was  her  intention, 
Raynal,  with  his  eyes  gloomily  lowered,  said,  in  a  voice 
full  of  strange  solemnity,  — 

"  I  went  to  the  army  of  the  Rhine." 

Josephine  put  down  the  glass  directly,  though  without 
removing  her  hand  from  it. 

''I  see  you  understand  me,  and  approve.  Yes,  I  saw 
that  your  sister  would  be  dishonored,  and  I  went  to  the 
army  and  saw  her  seducer." 

"  You  saw  hvji.  Oh,  I  hope  you  did  not  go  and  speak 
to  him  of  —  of  this  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  did." 

Josephine  resolved  to  know  the  worst  at  once.  "  May 
I  ask,"  said  she,  "  what  you  told  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  told  him  all  I  had  discovered,  and  pointed 
out  the  course  he  must  take ;  he  must  marry  yovir  sister 
at  once.  He  refused.  I  challenged  him.  But  ere  we 
met,  I  was  ordered  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope  against  a 
bastion.  Then,  seeing  me  go  to  certain  death,  the  noble 
fellow  pitied  me.  I  mean  this  is  how  I  understood  it  all 
at  the  time ;  at  any  rate,  he  promised  to  marry  Rose  if 
he  should  live." 

Josephine  put  out  her  hand,  and  with  a  horrible  smile 
said,  "  I  thank  you ;  you  have  saved  the  honor  of  our 


WHITE   LIES.  393 

family ;  "  and  with  no  more  ado,  she  took  the  glass  in 
her  hand  to  drink  the  fatal  contents. 

But  Raynal's  reply  arrested  her  hand.  He  said  sol- 
emnly, "Xo,  I  have  not.  Have  you  no  inkling  of  the 
terrible  truth  ?  Do  not  fiddle  with  that  glass  :  drink  it, 
or  leave  it  alone  ;  for,  indeed,  I  need  all  your  attention." 

He  took  the  glass  out  of  her  patient  hand,  and  with 
a  furtive  look  at  the  bedroom-door,  drew  her  away  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room ;  "  and,"  said  he,  "  I  could 
not  tell  your  mother,  for  she  knows  nothing  of  the  girl's 
folly ;  still  less  Rose,  for  I  see  she  loves  him  still,  or 
why  is  she  so  pale  ?  Advise  me,  now,  Avhilst  we  are 
alone.  Colonel  Dujardin  was  comparatively  indifferent 
to  yoti.  Will  you  undertake  the  task  ?  A  rough  soldier 
like  me  is  not  the  person  to  break  the  terrible  tidings  to 
that  poor  girl." 

"  What  tidings  ?  You  confuse,  you  perplex  me.  Oh ! 
what  does  this  horrible  preparation  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  he  will  never  marry  your  sister ;  he  will 
never  see  her  more." 

Then  Raynal  walked  the  room  in  great  agitation, 
which  at  once  communicated  itself  to  his  hearer.  But 
the  loving  heart  is  ingenious  in  avoiding  its  dire  mis- 
givings. 

"I  see,'"'  said  she;  "  he  told  you  he  would  never  visit. 
Beaurepaire  again.     He  was  right." 

Raynal  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"  Ah,  Josephine,  you  are  far  from  the  truth.  I  was  to 
attack  the  bastion.  It  was  mined  by  the  enemy,  and  he 
knew  it.  He  took  advantage  of  my  back  being  turnea. 
He  led  his  men  out  of  the  trenches ;  he  assaulted  toe 
\)astion  at  the  head  of  his  brigade.     He  took  it." 

"Ah,  it  was  noble;  it  was  like  him." 

*'The  enemy,  retiring,  blew  the  bastion  into  the  air, 
and  Dujardin  —  is  dead." 


394  WHITE    LIES. 

"Dead  !  "  said  Josephine,  in  stupefied  tones,  as  if  the 
word  conveyed  no  meaning  to  her  mind,  benumbed  anri. 
stunned  by  the  blow. 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud,"  said  Raynal ;  "  I  hear  the  poor 
girl  at  the  door.     Ay,  he  took  my  place,  and  is  dead." 

"  Dead !  " 

"  Swallowed  up  in  smoke  and  flames,  overwhelmed 
and  crushed  under  the  ruins." 

Josephine's  whole  body  gave  way,  and  heaved  like  a 
tree  falling  under  the  axe.  She  sank  slowly  to  her 
knees,  and  low  moans  of  agony  broke  from  her  at  inter- 
vals.    "  Dead,  dead,  dead  ! " 

"  Is  it  not  terrible  ?  "  he  cried. 

She  did  not  see  him  nor  hear  him,  but  moaned  out 
wildly,  "  Dead,  dead,  dead  ! "  The  bedroom-door  was 
opened. 

She  shrieked  with  sudden  violence,  "  Dead !  ah,  pity ! 
the  glass  !  the  composing  draught."  She  stretched  her 
hands  out  wildly.  Raynal,  with  a  face  full  of  concern, 
ran  to  the  table,  and  got  the  glass.  She  crawled  on  her 
knees  to  meet  it ;  he  brought  it  quickly  to  her  hand. 

"  There,  my  poor  soul !  " 

Even  as  their  hands  met.  Rose  threw  herself  on  the 
'^up,  and  snatched  it  with  fury  from  them  both.  She. 
was  white  as  ashes,  and  her  eyes,  supernaturally  large, 
glared  on  Raynal  with  terror.  "  Madman  !  "  she  crieJ, 
"  would  you  kill  her  ?  " 

He  glared  back  on  her  :  what  did  this  mean  ?  Theii 
eyes  were  fixed  on  each  other  like  combatants  for  life 
and  death;  they  did  not  see  that  the  room  was  filling 
with  people,  that  the  doctor  was  only  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  and  that  the  baroness  and  Edouard  were  at 
the  door,  and  all  looking  wonderstruck  at  this  strange 
sight  —  Josephine  on  her  knees,  and  those  two  facing  each 
other,  white,  with  dilating  eyes,  the  glass  between  them. 


WHITE   LIES.  395 

But  what  was  that  to  the  horror,  when  the  next 
moment  the  patient  Josephine  started,  to  her  feet,  and, 
standing  in  the  midst,  tore  her  hair  by  handfuls,  out  of 
her  head. 

"  Ah,  you  snatch  the  kind  poison  from  me ! " 

"  Poison ! " 

"  Poison ! " 

"  Poison  ! "  cried  the  others,  horror-stricken. 

"  Ah  !  you  won't  let  me  die.  Curse  you  all !  curse 
you !  I  never  had  my  own  way  in  anything.  I  was 
always  a  slave  and  a  fool.  I  have  murdered  the  man  I 
love  —  I  love.  Yes,  my  husband,  do  you  hear  ?  the  man 
I  love." 

"Hush!  daughter,  respect  my  gray  hairs." 

"  Your  gray  hairs !  You  are  not  so  old  in  years  as  I 
am  in  agony.  So  this  is  your  love,  Rose !  Ah,  you 
won't  let  me  die  —  won't  you  ?  Then  I'll  do  worse  — 
I'll  tell. 

*'  He  who  is  dead ;  you  have  murdered  him  amongst 
you,  and  I'll  follow  him  in  spite  of  you  all  —  he  was  my 
betrothed.  He  struggled  wounded,  bleeding,  to  my  feet. 
He  found  me  married.  News  came  of  my  husband's 
death  ;  I  married  my  betrothed." 

"  Married  hira  !  "  exclaimed  the  baroness. 

"  Ah,  my  poor  mother.  And  she  kissed  me  so  kindly 
just  now  —  she  will  kiss  me  no  more.  Oh,  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  marrying  him.  I  am  only  ashamed  of  the 
cowardice  that  dared  not  do  it  in  face  of  all  the  world. 
"We  had  scarce  been  happy  a  fortnight,  when  a  letter 
came  from  Colonel  Raynal.  He  was  alive.  I  drove  my 
true  husband  away,  wretch  that  I  was.  None  but  bad 
women  have  an  atom  of  sense.  I  tried  to  do  my  duty 
to  my  legal  husband.  He  was  my  benefactor.  I  thought 
it  was  my  duty.  Was  it  ?  I  don't  know  :  I  have  lost 
the  sense  of  right  and  wrong.     I  turned  from  a  living 


396  WHITE    LIES. 

creature  to  a  lie.-  He  who  liad  scattered  benefits  on  nie 
and  all  this  house  ;  he  whom  it  was  too  little  to  love ; 
he  ought  to  have  been  adored :  this  man  came  here  one 
night  to  wife  proud,  joyous,  and  warm-hearted.  He 
found  a  cradle,  and  two  women  watching  it.  Now 
Edouard,  now  monsieur,  do  you  ^ee  that  life  is  impossible 
to  me  7  One  bravely  accused  herself :  she  was  innocent. 
One  swooned  away  like  a  guilty  coward." 

Edouard  uttered  an  exclamation. 

''  Yes,  Edouard,  you  shall  not  be  miserable  like  me  ; 
she  was  guilty.  You  do  not  understand  me  yet,  my 
poor  mother  —  and  she  was  so  happy  this  morning  — 
/  was  the  liar,  the  coward,  the  double-faced  wife,  the 
miserable  mother  that  denied  her  child.  Now  will  you 
let  me  die  ?  Now  do  you  see  that  I  can't  and  won't  live 
upon  shame  and  despair  ?  Ah,  Monsieur  Raynal,  my 
dear  friend,  you  were  always  generous :  you  will  pity 
and  kill  me.  I  have  dishonored  the  name  you  gave  me 
to  keep :  I  am  neither  Beaurepaire  nor  Raynal.  Dp 
pray  kill  me,  monsieur  —  Jean,  do  pray  release  me  from 
my  life !  " 

And  she  crawled  to  his  knees  and  embraced  them,  and 
kissed  his  hand,  and  pleaded  more  piteously  for  death, 
than  others  have  begged  for  life. 

Raynal  stood  like  a  rock :  he  was  pale,  and  drew  his 
breath  audibly,  but  not  a  word.  Then  came  a  sight 
scarce  less  terrible  than  Josephine's  despair.  The  bar- 
oness, looking  and  moving  twenty  years  older  than  an 
hour  before,  tottered  across  the  room  to  Raynal. 

"  Sir,  you  whom  I  have  called  my  son,  but  whom  I 
will  never  presume  so  to  call  again,  I  thought  I  had 
lived  long  enough  never  to  have  to  blush  again.  I  loved 
you,  monsieur  1  prayed  every  day  for  you.  But  she 
who  ^vas  my  daughter  was  not  of  my  mind.  Monsieur, 
I  have  never  knelt  but  to  God  and  to  my  king,  and  1 
kneel  to  yoxx. :  forgive  us,  sir,  forgive  us ! " 


WHITE   LIES.  397 

She  tried  to  go  down  on  her  knees.  He  raised  hei 
with  his  strong  arm,  but  he  could  not  speak.  She  turned 
on  the  others. 

"  So  this  is  the  secret  you  were  hiding  from  me  I 
This  secret  has  not  killed  you  alL  Oh !  I  shall  not  live 
under  its  shame  so  long  as  you  have.  Chateau  of  Beau- 
repaire  —  nest  of  treason,  ingratitude,  and  immodesty  — 
I  loathe  you  as  much  as  once  I  loved  you.  I  will  go  and 
hide  my  head,  and  die  elsewhere." 

"  Stay,  madame  !  "  said  he,  in  a  voice  whose  depth  and 
dignity  was  such  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  disobey  it. 
"It  was  sudden  —  I  was  shaken  —  but  I  am  myself 
again." 

"  Oh,  show  some  pity  I "  cried  Rose. 

"  I  shall  try  to  be  just." 

There  was  a  long,  trembling  silence ;  and  during  that 
silence  and  terrible  agitation,  one  figure  stood  firm 
among  those  quaking,  beating  hearts,  like  a  rock  with 
the  waves  breaking  round  it  —  the  man  of  principle 
among  the  creatures  of  impulse. 

He  raised  Josephine  from  her  knees,  and  placed  her 
all  limp  and  powerless  in  an  arm-chair.  To  her  frenzy 
had  now  succeeded  a  sickness  and  feebleness  like  unto 
death. 

"  Widow  Dujardin,"  said  he,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  listen 
to  me." 

She  moaned  a  sort  of  assent. 

"  Your  mistake  has  been  not  trusting  me,  I  was  your 
friend,  and  not  a  selfish  friend.  I  was  not  enough  iu 
love  with  you  to  destroy  your  happiness.  Besides,  I 
despise  that  sort  of  love.  If  you  had  told  me  all,  I 
would  have  spared  you  this  misery.  By  the  present 
law,  civil  contracts  of  marriage  can  be  dissolved  by 
mutual  consent." 

At  this  the  baroness  uttered  some  sign  of  surprise 


398  WHITE   LIES. 

"  Ah  !  '■'  continued  Raynal,  sadl}^,  "  you  are  aristocrats, 
and  cannot  keep  pace  with  the  times.  This  very  day 
our  mere  contract  shall  be  formally  dis.solved.  Indeed, 
it  ceases  to  exist  since  both  parties  are  resolved  to  with- 
draw from  it  So,  if  you  married  Dujardiu  in  a  church, 
you  are  Madame  Dujardin  at  this  moment,  and  his  child 
is  legitimate.     What  does  she  say  ?  " 

This  question  was  to  Eose,  for  what  Josephine  uttered 
sounded  like  a  mere  articulate  moan.  But  Rose's  quick 
ear  had  caught  words,  and  she  replied,  all  in  tears,  "  My 
poor  sister  is  blessing  you,  sir.     We  all  bless  you." 

"  She  does  not  understand  my  position,"  said  Raynal. 
He  then  walked  up  to  Josephine,  and  leaning  over  her 
arm,  and  speaking  rather  loud,  under  the  impression 
that  her  senses  were  blunted  by  grief,  he  said,  "  Look 
here :  Colonel  Dujardin,  your  husband,  deliberately,  and 
with  his  eyes  open,  sacrificed  his  life  for  me,  and  for  his 
own  heroic  sense  of  honor.  'Now,  it  is  my  turn.  If 
that  hero  stood  here,  and  asked  me  for  all  the  blood  in 
my  body,  I  would  give  it  him.  He  is  gone;  but,  dying 
for  me,  he  has  left  me  his  widow  and  his  child;  they 
remain  under  my  wing.  To  protect  them  is  my  pride, 
and  my  only  consolation.  I  am  going  to  the  mayor  to 
annul  our  unlucky  contract  in  due  form,  and  make  us 
brother  and  sister  instead.  But,"  turning  to  the  bar- 
oness, "  don't  you  think  to  escape  me  as  your  daughter 
has  done:  no,  no,  old  lady,  once  a  mother,  always  a 
mother.     Stir  from  your  son'«  home  if  you  dare  !  " 

And  with  these  words,  in  speaking  which  his  voice 
had  recovered  its  iron  firmness,  he  strode  out  at  the 
door,  superb  in  manhood  and  principle,  and  every  eye 
turned  with  wonder  and  admiration  after  him.  Even 
when  he  was  gone  they  gazed  at  the  door  by  which  a 
creature  so  strangely  noble  had  disappeared. 

The  bgtT>ness  was  about  to  follow  him  without  taking 


WHITE   LIES.  399 

any  notice  of  Josephine.  But  Rose  caught  her  by  the 
gown.    "  0  mother,  speak  to  poor  Josephine :  bid  her  live." 

The  baroness  only  made  a  gesture  of  horror  and  dis- 
gust, and  turned  her  back  on  them  both. 

Josephine,  who  had  tottered  up  from  her  seat  at 
Rose's  words,  sank  heavily  down  again,  and  murmured, 
"Ah!  the  grave  holds  all  that  love  me  now." 

Rose  ran  to  her  side.  ''Cruel  Josephine  !  what,  do  not 
I  love  you  ?  Mother,  Avill  you  not  help  me  persuade  her 
to  live  ?  Oh !  if  she  dies,  I  will  die  too ;  you  will  kill 
both  your  children." 

Stern  and  indignant  as  the  baroness  was,  yet  these 
words  pierced  her  heart.  She  turned  with  a  piteous, 
half  apologetic  air  to  Edouard  and  Aubertin.  "Gentle- 
men," said  she,  "she  has  been  foolish,  not  guilty. 
Heaven  pardons  the  best  of  us.  Surely  a  mother  may 
forgive  her  child."  And  with  this  nature  conquered 
utterly ;  and  she  held  out  her  arms,  wide,  wide,  as  is  a 
mother's  heart.  Her  two  erring  children  rushed  sobbing 
violently  into  them  ;  and  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the 
room  for  a  long  time. 

After  this,  Josephine's  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat. 
Fear  and  misgivings,  and  the  heavy  sense  of  deceit 
gnawing  an  honorable  heart,  were  gone.  Grief  reigned 
alone  in  the  pale,  listless,  bereaved  widow. 

The  marriage  was  annulled  before  the  mayor ;  and, 
three  days  afterwards,  Raynal,  by  his  influence,  got  the 
consummated  marriage  formally  allowed  in  Paris. 

With  a  delicacy  for  which  one  would  hardly  have 
given  him  credit,  he  never  came  near  Beaurepaire  till 
all  this  was  settled ;  but  he  brought  the  document  from 
Paris  that  made  Josephine  the  widow  Dujardin,  and  her 
boy  the  heir  of  Beaurepaire ;  and  the  moment  she  was 
really  iVfadame  Dujardin  he  avoided  her  no  longer;  and 
he  became  a  comfort  to  her  instead  of  a  tpwnr. 


400  WHITE   LIES. 

The  dissolution  of  the  marriage  was  a  great  tie  between 
them.  So  much  that,  seeing  how  much  she  looked  up  to 
Raynal,  the  doctor  said  one  day  to  the  baroness,  "If  I 
know  anything  of  human  nature,  they  will  marry  again, 
provided  none  of  you  give  her  a  hint  which  way  her 
heart  is  turning." 

They,  who  have  habituated  themselves  to  live  for 
others,  can  suffer  as  well  as  do  great  things.  Josephine 
kept  alive.  A  passion  such  as  hers,  in  a  selfish  nature, 
must  have  killed  her. 

Even  as  it  was,  she  often  said,  "  It  is  hard  to  live." 

Then  they  used  to  talk  to  her  of  her  boy.  Would  she 
leave  him  —  Camille's  boy  —  without  a  mother?  And 
these  words  were  never  spoken  to  her  quite  in  vain. 

Her  mother  forgave  her  entirely,  and  loved  her  as 
before.  Who  could  be  angry  with  her  long  ?  The  air 
was  no  longer  heavy  Avith  lies.  Wretched  as  she  was, 
she  breathed  lighter.  Joy  and  hope  were  gone.  Sor- 
rowful peace  was  coming.  When  the  heart  comes  to 
this,  nothing  but  Time  can  cure ;  but  what  will  not 
Time  do  ?  What  wounds  have  I  seen  him  heal !  His 
cures  are  incredible. 

The  little  party  sat  one  day,  peaceful,  but  silent  and 
sad,  in  the  Pleasaunce,  under  the  great  oak. 

Two  soldiers  came  to  the  gate.  They  walked  feebly, 
ior  one  was  lame,  and  leaned  upon  the  other,  who  was 
\3Ae  and  weak,  and  leaned  upon  a  stick. 

''Soldiers,"  said  Raynal,  "and  invalided." 

"  Give  them  food  and  wine,"  said  Josephine. 

Rose  went  towards  them ;  but  she  had  scarcely  taken 
three  steps  ere  she  cried  out,  — 

"  It  is  Dard  !  it  is  poor  Dard !  Come  in,  Dard, 
come  in." 

Dard  limped  towards  them,  leaning  upon  Sergeant  La 


WHITE   LIES.  401 

Croix.  A  bit  of  Dard's  heel  had  been  shot  away,  and  of 
La  Cvoix's  liead. 

Rose  ran  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Jacintha,  bring  oi;t  a  table  into  the  Pleasaunce,  and 
something  for  two  guests  to  eat." 

The  soldiers  came  slowly  to  the  Pleasaunce,  and  were 
welcomed,  and  invited  to  sit  down,  and  received  with 
respect ;  for  France  even  in  that  day  honored  the  hum- 
blest of  her  brave. 

Soon  Jacintha  came  out  with  a  little  round  table  in 
her  hands,  and  affected  a  composure  which  was  belied  by 
her  shaking  hands  and  her  gloAving  cheek. 

After  a  few  words  of  homely  welcome  —  not  eloquent, 
but  very  sincere  —  she  went  off  again  with  her  apron  to 
her  eyes.  She  reappeared  with  the  good  cheer,  and 
served  the  poor  fellows  with  radiant  zeal. 

''  What  regiment  ?  "  asked  Raynal. 

Dard  was  about  to  answer,  but  his  superior  stopped 
him  severely  ;  then,  rising  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
he  replied,  with  pride,  "Twenty-fourth  brigade,  second 
company.  We  were  cut  up  at  Philipsburg,  and  incorpo- 
rated with  the  12th." 

Raynal  instantly  regretted  his  question ;  for  Josephine's 
eye  fixed  on  Sergeant  La  Croix  with  an  expression  words 
cannot  paint.  Yet  she  showed  more  composure,  real  or 
forced,  than  he  expected. 

*'  Heaven  sends  him,"  said  she.  "  My  friend,  tell  me, 
were  you  —  ah  ! " 

Colonel  Raynal  interfered  hastily.  "  Think  what  you 
do.  He  can  tell  you  nothing  but  what  we  know,  not  so 
much,  in  fact,  as  we  know;  for,  now  I  look  at  him,  I 
think  this  is  the  very  sergeant  we  found  lying  insensible 
under  the  bastion.  He  must  have  been  struck  before  the 
bastion  was  taken  even." 

"I    was,    colonel,  I  was.     I    remember  nothing   but 


402  WHITE   LIES. 

losing  my  senses,  and  feeling  the  colors  go  out  of  my 
hand." 

"  There,  you  see,  he  knows  nothing,"  said  Eaynal. 

"It  was  hot  work,  colonel,  under  that  bastion,  but  it 
was  hotter  to  the  poor  fellows  that  got  in.  I  heard  all 
about  it  from  Private  Dard  here." 

"  So,  then,  it  was  you  who  carried  the  colors  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  struck  down  with  the  colors  of  the  brigade 
in  my  hand,"  cried  La  Croix. 

"  See  how  people  blunder  about  everything  ;  they  told 
me  the  colonel  carried  the  colors." 

"Why,  of  course  he  did.  You  don't  think  our  colonel, 
the  fighting  colonel,  would  let  me  hold  the  colors  of  the 
brigade  so  long  as  he  was  alive.  No ;  he  was  struck  by 
a  Prussian  bullet,  and  he  had  just  time  to  hand  the  colors 
to  me,  and  point  with  his  sword  to  the  bastion,  and  down 
he  went.  It  was  hot  work,  I  can  tell  you.  I  did  not 
hold  them  long,  not  thirty  seconds,  and  if  we  could  know 
their  history,  they  passed  through  more  hands  than  that 
before  they  got  to  the  Prussian  flag-staff." 

Raynal  suddenly  rose,  and  walked  rapidly  to  and  fro, 
with  his  hands  behind  him. 

"Poor  colonel !"  continued  La  Croix.  "Well,  I  love 
to  think  he  died  like  a  soldier,  and  not  like  some  of  my 
poor  comrades,  hashed  to  atoms,  and  not  a  volley  fired 
over  him.  I  hope  they  put  a  stone  over  him,  for  he  was 
the  best  soldier  and  the  best  general  in  the  army." 

"  0  sir !  "  cried  Josephine,  "  there  is  no  stone  even  to 
mark  the  spot  where  he  fell,"  and  she  sobbed  despairingly. 

"  Why,  how  is  this.  Private  Dard  ?  "  inquired  La  Croix, 
sternly. 

Dard  apologized  for  his  comrade,  and  touching  his  own 
head  significantly  told  them  that  since  his  wound  the 
sergeant's  memory  was  defective. 

"Now,  sergeant,  didn't  I  tell  you  the  colonel  must 


WHITE   LIES.  403 

have  got  the  better  of  his  wound,  and  got  into  the  bat- 
tery ?  " 

"  It's  false,  Private  Dard ;  don't  I  knoAV  our  colonel 
better  than  that  ?  Would  ever  he  have  let  those  colors 
out  of  his  hand,  if  there  had  been  an  ounce  of  life  left 
in  him  ?  " 

"He  died  at  the  foot  of  the  battery,  I  tell  you." 

"Then  why  didn't  we  find  him  ?  " 

Here  Jacintha  put  in  a  word  with  the  quiet  subdued 
meaning  of  her  class.  "  I  can't  find  that  anybody  ever 
saw  the  colonel  dead." 

"  They  did  not  find  him,  because  they  did  not  look  for 
him,"  said  Sergeant  La  Croix. 

"  God  forgive  you,  sergeant ! "  said  Dard,  with  some 
feeling.  "!N"ot  look  for  our  colonel!  We  turned  over 
every  body  that  lay  there,  —  full  thirty  there  were,  —  and 
you  were  one  of  them." 

"  Only  thirty !  Why,  we  settled  more  Prussians  than 
that,  I'll  swear." 

"  Oh  !  they  carried  off  their  dead." 

"  Ay  !  but  I  don't  see  why  they  should  carry  our  colonel 
off.  His  epaulets  was  all  the  thieves  could  do  any  good 
with.  Stop  !  yet  I  do,  Private  Dard ;  I  have  a  horrible 
suspicion.  No,  I  have  not ;  it  is  a  certainty.  What ! 
don't  you  see,  ye  ninny  ?  Thunder  and  thousands  of 
devils,  here's  a  disgrace.  Dogs  of  Prussians  !  they  have 
got  ouf  colonel,  they  have  taken  him  prisoner." 

"  0  Crod  bless  them  ! "  cried  Josephine  ;  "  0  God  bless 
the  month  that  tells  me  so !  0  sir,  I  am  his  wife,  his 
poor  heart-broken  wife.  You  would  not  be  so  cruel  as 
to  mock  my  despair.  Say  again  that  he  may  be  alive, 
pray,  say  it  again  ! " 

"His  wife!  Private  Dard,  why  didn't  you  tell  me? 
You  tell  me  nothing.  Yes,  my  pretty  lady,  I'll  say  it 
again,  and  I'll  prove  it.    Here  is  an  enemy  in  full  retreat, 


404  WHITE    LIES. 

would  they  encuinher  themselves  with  the  colonel  ?  If 
he  Avas  dead,  they'd  have  whipj)ed  off  his  epaulets,  and 
left  him  there.  Alive  ?  why  not  ?  Look  at  me :  I  am 
alive,  and  I  was  worse  wounded  than  he  was.  They  took 
me  for  dead,  you  see.  Courage,  madame !  you  will  see 
him  again,  take  an  old  soldier's  word  for  it.  Dard,  atten- 
tion !  this  is  the  colonel's  wife." 

She  gazed  on  the  speaker  like  one  in  a  trance. 

Every  eye  and  every  soul  had  been  so  bent  on  Sergeant 
La  Croix  that  it  was  only  now  Raynal  was  observed  to 
be  missing.  The  next  minute  he  came  riding  out  of  the 
stable-yard,  and  went  full  gallop  down  the  road. 

"Ah  !"  cried  Rose,  with  a  burst  of  hope  ;  ''he  thinks 
so  too  ;  he  has  hopes.  He  is  gone  somewhere  for  informa- 
tion.    Perhaps  to  Paris." 

Josephine's  excitement  and  alternations  of  hope  and 
fear  were  now  alarming.  Rose  held  her  hand,  and 
implored  her  to  try  and  be  calm  till  they  could  see 
Raynal. 

Just  before  dark  he  came  riding  fiercely  home.  Joseph- 
ine flew  down  the  stairs.  Raynal  at  sight  of  her  forgot 
all  his  caution.  He  waved  his  cocked  hat  in  the  air. 
She  fell  on  her  knees  and  thanked  God.  He  gasped 
out,  — 

"Prisoner  —  exchanged  for  two  Prussian  lieutenants 
—  sent  home  —  they  say  he  is  in  France  !  " 

The  tears  of  joy  gushed  in  streams  from  her. 

Some  days  passed  in  hope  and  joy  inexpressible  ;  but 
the  good  doctor  was  uneasy  for  Josephine.  She  was 
always  listening  with  supernatural  keenness  and  start- 
ing from  her  chair,  and  every  fibre  of  her  lovely  person 
seemed  to  be  on  the  quiver. 

Nor  was  Rose  without  a  serious  misgiving.  Would 
husband  and  wife  ever  meet  ?  He  evidently  looked  on 
her  as  Madame  Raynal,  and  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to 
keep  away  from  Beaurepaire. 


WHITE   LIES.  405 

They  had  recourse  to  that  ever-soothing  influence — • 
her  child.  Madame  Jouvenel  was  settled  in  the  village, 
and  Josephine  visited  her  every  day,  and  came  back  often 
with  red  eyes,  but  always  soothed. 

One  day  Kose  and  she  went  to  Madame  Jouvenel,  and, 
entering  the  house  without  ceremony,  found  the^nurse 
out,  and  no  one  watching  the  child. 

"  How  careless  ! "  said  Rose. 

Josephine  stopped  eagerly  to  kiss  him.  But  instead 
of  kissing  him,  she  uttered  a  loud  cry.  There  was  a 
locket  hanging  round  his  neck. 

It  was  a  locket  containing  some  of  Josephine's  hair 
and  Camille's.  She  had  given  it  him  in  the  happy  days 
that  followed  their  marriage.  She  stood  gasping  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Madame  Jouvenel  came  running 
in  soon  after.  Josephine,  by  a  wonderful  effort  over  her- 
self, asked  her  calmly  and  cunningly,  — 

"  Where  is  the  gentleman  who  put  this  locket  round 
my  child's  neck  ?     I  want  to  speak  with  him." 

Madame  Jouvenel  stammered  and  looked  confused. 

"  A  soldier  —  an  oflficer  ?  — come,  tell  me  !  " 

"  Woman,"  cried  Rose,  "  why  do  you  hesitate  ?  " 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  said  Madame  Jouvenel.  "He 
made  me  swear  never  to  mention  his  coming  here.  He 
goes  away,  or  hides  whenever  you  come.  And  since 
Madame  does  not  love  the  poor  wounded  gentleman, 
what  can  he  do  better  ?  " 

"  Not  love  him  ! "  cried  Rose :  "  why,  she  is  his  wife,  his 
lawful  wedded  wife ;  he  is  a  fool  or  a  monster  to  run 
away  for  her.  She  loves  him  as  no  woman  ever  loved 
before.     She  pines  for  him.     She  dies  for  him." 

The  door  of  a  little  back  room  opened  at  these  words 
of  Rose,  and  there  stood  Camille,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling, 
pale  and  astounded,  but  great  joy  and  wonder  working 
in  his  face. 


406  WHITE   LIES. 

Josephine  gave  a  cry  of  love  that  made  the  other  two 
women  weep,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  sobbing  for 
joy  upon  eacli  other's  neck. 

Away  went  sorrow,  doubt,  despair,  and  all  they  had 
suffered.  That  one  moment  paid  for  all.  And  in  that 
momgnt  of  joy  and  surprise,  so  great  as  to  be  almost 
terrible,  perhaps  it  was  well  for  Josephine  that  Camille, 
weakened  by  his  wound,  was  quite  overcome,  and  nearly 
fainted.  She  was  herself  just  going  into  hysterics;  but, 
seeing  him  quite  overcome,  she  conquered  them  directly, 
and  nursed,  and  soothed,  and  pitied,  and  encouraged  him 
instead. 

Then  they  sat  hand  in  hand.  Their  happiness  stopped 
their  very  breath.  They  could  not  speak.  So  Rose  told 
him  all.  He  never  owned  why  he  had  slipped  away 
when  he  saw  them  coming.  He  forgot  it.  He  forgot 
all  his  hard  thoughts  of  her.  They  took  him  home  in 
the  carriage.  His  wife  would  not  let  him  out  of  her 
sight.  For  years  and  years  after  this  she  could  hardly 
bear  to  let  him  be  an  hour  out  of  her  sight. 

The  world  is  wide  ;  there  may  be  a  man  in  it  who  can 
paint  the  sudden  bliss  that  fell  on  these  two  much  suf- 
fering hearts  ;  but  I  am  not  that  man ;  this  is  beyond 
me ;  it  was  not  only  heaven,  but  heaven  after  hell. 

Leave  we  the  indescribable  and  the  unspeakable  for  a 
moment,  and  go  to  a  lighter  theme. 

The  day  Rose's  character  was  so  unexpectedly  cleared, 
Edouard  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her,  or  a 
reconciliation  would  have  taken  place.  As  it  was,  he 
went  home  intensely  happy.  But  he  did  not  resume  his 
visits  to  the  chateau.  When  he  came  to  think  calmly 
over  it,  his  vanity  was  cruelly  mortified.  She  was  in- 
nocent of  the  greater  offence  ;  but  how  insolently  she 
had  sacrificed  him,  his  love,  and  his  respect,  to  another'a 
interest. 


WHITE   LIES.  407 

More  generous  thoughts  prevailed  by  degrees.  And 
one  day  that  her  pale  face,  her  tears,  and  her  remorse 
got  the  better  of  his  offended  pride,  he  determined  to 
give  her  a  good  lecture  that  should  drown  her  in  penitent 
tears ;  and  then  end  by  forgiving  her.  For  one  thing 
he  could  not  be  happy  till  he  had  forgiven  her. 

She  walked  into  the  room  with  a  calm,  dignified,  stately 
air,  and  before  he  could  utter  one  word  of  his  grave 
remonstrance,  attacked  him  thus :  "  You  wish  to  speak 
to  me,  sir.  If  it  is  to  apologize  to  me,  I  will  save  your 
vanity  the  mortification.     I  forgive  you." 

"  You  forgive  me  !  "  cried  Edouard  furiously. 

"  No  violence,  if  you  please,"  said  the  lady  with  cold 
hauteur.  "  Let  us  be  friends,  as  Josephine  and  Raynal 
are.  We  cannot  be  anything  more  to  one  another  now. 
You  have  wounded  me  too  deeply  by  your  jealous,  sus- 
picious nature." 

Edouard  gasped  for  breath,  and  was  so  far  out-gen- 
eralled  that  he  accepted  the  place  of  defendant.  ^'  Wasn't 
1  to  believe  your  own  lips  ?  Did  not  Colonel  Raynal  be- 
lieve you  ?  " 

"Oh,  that's  excusable.  He  did  not  know  me.  But 
you  were  my  lover ;  you  ought  to  have  seen  I  was  forced 
to  deceive  poor  Raynal.  How  dare  you  believe  your 
eyes,  much  more  your  ears,  against  my  truth,  against 
my  honor ;  and  then  to  believe  such  nonsense  ?  "  Then, 
with  a  grand  assumption  of  superior  knowledge,  says 
she,  "  You  little  simpleton,  how  could  the  child  be  mine 
when  I  wasn't  married  at  all  ?  " 

At  this  reproach,  Edouard  first  stared,  then  grinned. 
"  I  forgot  that,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  and  you  forgot  the  moon  isn't  made  of  green 
cheese.  However,  if  I  saw  you  very  humble,  and  very 
penitent,  I  might,  perhaps,  really  forgive  you — in  time." 

"No,  forgive  me  at  once.     1  don't  understand  youi 


408  WHITE    LIES. 

angelical,  diabolical,  incoiupreheiisible  sex  :  who  on  earth 
can  ?  forgive  me." 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!  oh!" 

Lo  !  the  tears  that  could  not  come  at  a  remonstrance 
were  flowing  in  a  stream  at  his  generosity. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  he  tenderly.  She 
cried  away,  but  at  the  same  time  explained,  — 

"  What  a  f — f — foolish  you  must  be  not  to  see  that 
it  is  I  who  am  without  excuse.  You  were  my  betrothed. 
It  was  to  you  I  owed  my  duty ;  not  my  sister.  I  am  a 
wicked,  unhappy  girl.     How  you  must  hate  me ! " 

"  I  adore  you.  There,  no  more  forgiving  on  either 
side.  Let  our  only  quarrel  be  who  shall  love  the  other 
best." 

"Oh,  I  know  how  that  will  be,"  said  the  observant 
toad.  "  You  will  love  me  best  till  you  have  got  me ;  and 
then  I  shall  love  you  best ;  oh,  ever  so  much." 

However,  the  prospect  of  loving  best  did  not  seem 
disagreeable  to  her ;  for  with  this  announcement  she 
deposited  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  in  that  attitude 
took  a  little  walk  with  him  up  and  down  the  Pleasaunce : 
sixty  times ;  about  eight  miles. 

These  two  were  a  happy  pair.  This  wayward,  but 
generous  heart  never  forgot  her  offence,  and  his  forgive- 
ness. She  gave  herself  to  him  heart  and  soul,  at  the 
altar,  and  well  she  redeemed  her  vow.  He  rose  high  in 
political  life :  and  paid  the  penalty  of  that  sort  of  ambi- 
tion; his  heart  was  often  sore.  But  by  his  own  hearth 
sat  comfort  and  ever  ready  sympathy.  Ay,  and  patient 
industry  to  read  blue-books,  and  a  ready  hand  and  brain 
to  write  diplomatic  notes  for  him,  off  which  the  mind 
glided  as  from  a  ball  of  ice. 

In  thirty  years  she  never  once  mentioned  the  servants 
to  him. 

"  Oh,  let  eternal  honor  crown  her  name  ! " 


WHITE   LIES.  409 

It  was  only  a  little  bit  of  heel  that  Dard  had  left  in 
Prussia.  More  fortunate  than  his  predecessor  (Achilles), 
he  got  off  with  a  slight  but  enduring  limp.  And  so  the 
army  lost  him. 

He  married  Jacintha,  and  Josephine  set  them  up  in 
Bigot's  (deceased)  auberge.  Jacintha  shone  as  a  landlady, 
and  custom  flowed  in.  For  all  that,  a  hankering  after 
Beaurepaire  was  observable  in  her.  Her  favorite  stroll 
was  into  the  Beaurepaire  kitchen,  and  on  all  fetes  and 
grand  occasions  she  was  prominent  in  gay  attire  as  a 
retainer  of  the  house.  The  last  specimen  of  her  homely 
sagacity  I  shall  have  the  honor  to  lay  before  you  is  a 
critique  upon  her  husband,  which  she  vented  six  years 
after  marriage. 

"My  Dard,"  said  she,  "is  very  good  as  far  as  he  goes. 
What  he  has  felt  himself,  that  he  can  feel  foi- :  nobody 
better.  You  come  to  him  with  an  empty  belly,  or  a 
broken  head,  or  all  bleeding  with  a  cut,  or  black  and 
blue,  and  yon  shall  find  a  friend.  But  if  it  is  a  sore 
heart,  or  trouble,  and  sorrow,  and  no  hole  in  your  car- 
cass to  show  for  it,  you  had  better  come  to  ???e  ;  for  you 
might  as  well  tell  your  grief  to  a  stone  wall  as  to  my 
man." 

The  baroness  took  her  son  Raynal  to  Paris,  and  there, 
with  keen  eye,  selected  him  a  wife.  She  proved  an  ex- 
cellent one.  It  would  have  been  hard  if  she  had  not,  for 
the  baroness  with  the  severe  sagacity  of  her  age  and  sex, 
had  set  aside  as  naught  a  score  of  seeming  angels,  before 
she  could  suit  herself  with  a  daughter-in-law.  At  first 
the  Raynals  very  properly  saw  little  of  the  Dujardins ; 
but  when  both  had  been  married  some  years,  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  fleeting  and  nominal  connection  waxed  faint, 
while  the  memory  of  great  benefits  conferred  on  both 
sides  remained  lively  as  ever  in  hearts  so  great,  and 


410  WHITE    LIES. 

there  was  a  warm,  a  sacred  friendship  between  the  two 
houses  —  a  friendship  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  not  of  the 
modern  club-house. 

Camille  and  Josephine  were  blessed  almost  beyond 
the  lot  of  humanity :  none  can  really  appreciate  sunshine 
but  those  who  come  out  of  the  cold  dark.  And  so  with 
happiness.  For  years  they  could  hardly  be  said  to  live 
like  mortals :  they  basked  in  bliss.  But  it  was  a  near 
thing;  for  they  but  just  scraped  clear  of  life-long  misery, 
and  death's  cold  ♦■ouch  grazed  them  both  as  they  went. 

Yet  they  had  heroic  virtues  to  balance  White  Lies  in 
the  great  Judge's  eye. 

A  wholesome  lesson,  therefore,  and  a  warning  may  be 
gathered  from  this  story  :  and  I  know  many  novelists 
who  would  have  preached  that  lesson  at  some  length  in 
every  other  chapter,  and  interrupted  the  sacred  narrative 
to  do  it.  But  when  I  read  stories  so  mutilated,  I  think 
of  a  circumstance  related  by  Mr.  Joseph  Miller. 

"  An  Englishman  sojourning  in  some  part  of  Scotland 
was  afflicted  with  many  hairs  in  the  butter,  and  remon- 
strated. He  was  told,  in  reply,  that  the  hairs  and  the 
butter  came  from  one  source  —  the  cow;  and  that  the 
just  and  natural  proportions  hitherto  observed,  could  not 
be  deranged,  and  bald  butter  invented  —  for  one.  '  So 
be  it,'  said  the  Englishman ;  '  but  let  me  have  the  butter 
in  one  plate,  and  the  hairs  in  another.' " 

Acting  on  this  hint,  I  have  reserved  some  admirable 
remarks,  reflections,  discourses,  and  tirades,  until  the 
story  should  be  ended,  and  the  other  plate  be  ready  for 
the  subsidiary  sermon. 

And  now  that  the  proper  time  is  come,  that  love  of 
intruding  one's  own  wisdom  in  one's  own  person  on  the 
reader,  which  has  marred  so  many  works  of  art,  is  in  my 
case  restrained  —  first,  by  pure  fatigue ;  secondly,  because 
the  moral  of  this  particular  story  stands  out  so  clear  in 


WHITE   LIES.  411 

the  narrative,  that  he  who  runs  may  read  it  without  any 
sermon  at  all. 

Those  who  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  gather  my 
moral  from  the  living  tree,  would  not  lift  it  out  of  my 
dead  basket :  would  not  unlock  their  jaw-bones  to  bite 
it,  were  I  to  thrust  it  into  their  very  mouths. 


UNIVtRSITl  OF  CALIFORNIA 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

A  A  001  423  666  5 


